Quite Contrary
by storm101
Summary: AU Riff was never hired by Alexis, though his father's friend did find him a job. Meanwhile, Cain's on the case, tracking down the aristocratic head of a human trafficking ring, but gets a little distracted when he encounters Riff. Five years after they might have met, Riff meets a young woman at a ball, who is certainly not all she appears to be... Eventual R/C, eventual yaoi
1. Chapter 1

It started like any proper fairy tale should: with a boy and a girl and a dance.

Riff had only entered the ball room to perform a quick headcount of the servants and to double check things were running smoothly. Lord Gladstone always seemed to blame him in particular if something went wrong, and Riff would really rather avoid the chastisement.

He was broken from his counting when a young woman collided with him abruptly, all green satin skirts and soft dark hair. "God above, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, but I- He won't stop pestering me, and he wants to take me to bed, but he can't, and…" The girl clutched at Riff's upper arms as he steadied her instinctively, unable to really protest around her explanations.

The ridiculousness of the situation earned a startled laugh from the servant. "Understood, milady," he finally said, taking a careful step away. "Please, feel free to use me as a shield as necessary," he added, releasing her shoulders with a small smile.

The young woman looked startled for a moment, before flushing. She still took his offer, glancing backwards and paling further. "I thought I lost him…" she muttered under her breath. One gloved hand caught his sleeve, and she turned green eyes up to him again. "He can't see me alone. Dance with me? Please?"

For a split second, Riff gaped at her, completely frozen. Dance? Him? This was- She clearly had no idea- She seemed to take his flabbergasted silence as disgust, and flushed deeper. "I know it's quite forward of me, but I haven't an idea as to what else to do. I don't possess the social skills or patience to turn him down-he won't listen!"

"No, madam, it's nothing of the sort- I understand the situation, believe me, it's simply…" Riff hesitated again, but she looked so scared and alone… The blond man caved, taking one gloved hand to bow over it. "…You must forgive me my clumsiness," he finally said instead. "It has been… years, since I last danced. May I have my lady's name?"

She looked startled, beautifully so, and Riff called himself ten kinds of fool for thinking it, but she was blushing again, pale pink lips parted and green eyes wide as she stared up at him. They matched the emerald tones in her dress…

"Mary," she finally whispered. "Mary Harrell. May I have your name as well? There are many people here I am familiar with, but… I'm afraid to admit that I don't know you at all…" She folded his fingers in hers, reluctant to release him when Riff moved to drop her hand at the question.

"I… I am not surprised you do not know me, milady. My name is Riff Raffit, and I… work in Lord Gladstone's manor."

"Oh." The woman blinked at him, and Riff wondered if it was only now that she'd noticed the tailcoat he wore was made of only cotton and wool, not the finely woven and tailored evening wear her peers sported. Riff swallowed and wondered if he should pull away, but she was still smiling up at him and still blushing faintly. "And it is your master that I am hiding from," she said instead, fingers still firmly laced with his. They hadn't loosened at all, rather tightening instead.

Riff was rendered speechless for the second time in less than five minutes. She continued, eyes bright in something very close to amusement. "I've often found the servants at these sorts of parties kinder than the guests. Though I'd hate to get you in trouble…" She stepped forward slightly, leaving Riff to automatically rest a hand on her waist. "If not, I certainly don't mind that you're a servant, Mr. Raffit."

"Even if you do, I believe it might… might be worth it," Riff decided, loosening her grip, before bringing her hand out to the side, leading her to the corner of the dance floor. As conscious as he was of the various eyes, his partner (and really, the nerve he had to even think of her as such) ignored them, as if she were used to stares. And, really, little surprise there at all, considering how beautiful…

He cut the thought off again, biting his lip and resting a shy hand on her waist, trying to remember-leading starts with the left foot, doesn't it? Then forward-The thought was abruptly shortened again, but this time it was instead because Miss Harrell had stepped forward as he did, colliding with him. She made a singularly frustrated noise, then started apologizing-the same instant he did.

"I'm so sorry, milady, I had hoped to warn you-"

"No, I'm unforgivably clumsy, I'm such a-"

"Haven't danced in years, can barely remember which way to lead-"

"Blasted fool-"

"I'm so sorry." They spoke together, and Riff couldn't help but laugh. "I'll forgive your clumsiness if you'll forgive my lapse of memory?" he bargained, adding a quick "milady," that he was immediately reprimanding himself for forgetting.

She laughed in return, a shy, startled sound that slipped from high to huskily low and back again. "Perhaps…" she said slowly, green eyes mischievous again. "Perhaps dancing is something neither of us is quite proficient at."

"No, indeed," Riff agreed reluctantly, taking a step back and off the dance floor again. "Though I'd hoped to protect you," he added, more quietly.

He hadn't meant for her to hear him, not really, but the fact that she had was immediately obvious. She looked up at him again, eyes wide and searching his face closely, for… something. "Protect me," she repeated quietly, almost thoughtfully. "I think…" and for a moment, there was something Riff might have called calculating in her gaze, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure, "I think I should like for you to protect me."

A hard hand gripped his shoulder, and the illusion that the two of them alone existed evaporated with the back of a hand colliding, hard, with his cheek. Caught by surprise, Riff stumbled, one hand flying to his face, the other hand reaching out and catching a silk clad shoulder to steady himself.

"You are monopolizing my guests," Lord Gladstone hissed at him, and he straightened almost immediately, releasing Miss Harrell's shoulder as soon as he realized that was what he'd been touching. "My dear lady," he continued, voice dripping honey-poisoned honey, Riff thought spitefully, careful not to let the anger show on his face-"I fear I must apologize for my _staff." _Another reminder of what, for only a moment, he'd been able to forget, the damned debt he owed to this lord and master. "I apologize for the indiscretion."

Again, Riff schooled his expression, closing his eyes. "If you'll forgive my saying so, Lord Gladstone," he said quietly, "The lady requested a dance. I have less right to refuse than I do to concede to the lady's wishes." Some of the bite leaked into his voice regardless of his will otherwise. Another backhand to his cheek, but this time he was expecting it, and barely flinched, letting his head turn with the blow and _not _touching it again afterwards.

"He has mistaken perceptions of preference above his station," Lord Gladstone bit out. "Again, my apologies. Some dogs cannot be trained well."

"Forgive my ignorance in the subject," Miss Harrell's voice finally responded, "But in my experience, a dog mistreated has a harder bite than most, and is far more likely to use it. Leave him be, my lord. Dance with me," she finished, granting the nobleman a beautiful smile-if, Riff noted, one fragile, sharp, like broken glass. Faintly dangerous. The servant couldn't help but watch as the two walked away, his master folding her hand into his own and sliding his other arm about her waist.

A brief flicker of jealousy, of anger, sparked up, but Riff did nothing, quieting the desire with the reminder-he had no right, not when she was a lady and he nothing but a footman, however high ranked.

He hadn't even been able to protect her, Riff realized with a sickening drop in his stomach. Lord Gladstone had been the man she'd hoped to avoid, and yet she danced with him now… With a sigh, and the realization that he'd been practically _staring, _and for far too long, Riff turned, shifting uncomfortably through the crowd to return to the corridor. The hallways, the back staircases, the lower rooms… the only places appropriate, or fit for the servants.


	2. Chapter 2

Riff was midway through cleaning the cabinet of crystal the next morning when he heard a hissing from the door. One of the kitchen maids was trying to catch his attention for some unknown reason, and he sighed, carefully setting the cloth and the glass down.

"Yes?"

She grinned at him and flounced into the room. Riff resumed work-it wasn't a disaster that needed his immediate attention. "Lizzie, don't you have work that you need to do?"

"I'm doing it," she shot back, ignoring the level look he gave her. "I'll be doing my actual work soon, promise." She'd always been far too familiar. He sighed. "If you'll give me a minute to explain, you'll be happy I'm shirking. I have a message." The last four words were said with a great deal of self importance.

Clearly, she wouldn't be doing any sort of work until he took the bait… "From whom?" he asked, holding the crystal up to catch the light. There, per-

"Miss Mary Harrell."

-fect. Riff scrambled for a moment, barely managing to salvage the crystal. It clinked softly against the polished wood of the table as he set it down, a testament to his shaking hands. "How? What is it?" He demanded, before forcing himself to take a deep breath and regain some measure of control. Riff smoothed his expression out again. It wouldn't do whatsoever to look so-God forbid-eager.

The maid grinned at him. "She showed up last night, near the kitchen-cook shooed her out almost immediately, of course, but she snagged me on my way there and asked if I knew you, and if I knew when your next day off was. I didn't, but I knew someone who did, so it's all arranged and you don't have to worry about a thing-"

Riff paled slightly, more so than usual. "_What's _arranged?" Lizzie was one who adored gossip, likely more than was entirely healthy. "Lizzie, who did you talk to?"

"Just Madeline, but she asked Tonya to make sure." …And Tonya was another of the same sort. God, the entire staff must know by now. She continued, oblivious. "Anyway, I got the right day and told her you were off next Thursday afternoon, and she told me to tell you to meet her at the Royal Botanical Gardens at two thirty by the clock."

It took a moment for Riff to comprehend this. Miss Harrell actually wanted to see him again? The blond man tried to fight back a smile at the thought, that he might be able to see her, speak with her, be close to her-well, maybe not as close as the dancing allowed, as that wouldn't be proper, yet… she sought him out again. It was almost a relief…

He would have to go. He couldn't do anything else… He'd been unable to think about much else aside from her all day, but at least he'd been able to work anyway.

Riff closed his eyes, trying to regain his usual stoicism. "Thank you, Lizzie. Now, go on, back to work." Opening his eyes, he realized he was on the receiving end of a very strange look. "Lizzie, work," he repeated, more sternly this time.

She jumped up to her feet. "Right! Of course!" and scurried back out the door with an odd giggle. Riff turned and returned to his own task, hands careful around the crystal.

Next Thursday. Today was Tuesday. That was nine days. Nine days before he'd see her again. So long? It's luck he could see her at all, Riff reminded himself viciously. Yet nine days…


	3. Chapter 3

Life moved forward, of course. On the Monday before his next meeting (he wouldn't let himself call it a date, even in his own head), the staff was informed to expect a guest for tea tomorrow. As Lord Gladstone was rarely sociable, with few visitors, this was a surprise. He did attend the opera religiously, and if the rumors were to be believed, that was when he'd made the acquaintance of a new friend.

The doorbell rang promptly at five minutes past two. Riff, as the closest at the time, ended up opening it, taking the young man's hat and coat automatically. He received only a glance before he was completely and utterly ignored.

Luckily, he didn't have to try to speak with the aristocrat, or try to usher him into a sitting room. Lord Gladstone had been expecting the man, and so made his usual dramatic entrance, coming down the stairs to greet him.

"Earl Hargreaves, a pleasure to see you again. I'm afraid I have a few last minute papers to fill out for a loan…"

"Ah?" The earl's voice was light, sounding innocently concerned. "I'm shocked to hear that you're in need of money, Lord Gladstone… Shall I-?"

Gladstone's laugh sounded pained, and Riff already liked the earl a bit more. He seemed quite adept at the barbed compliments nobles so often paid each other. Besides, it was Gladstone's own fault. No gentleman discussed finances in public. "No, no, of course not. Quite the opposite, in fact, as a colleague is in need. I'll have you shown to the sitting room, if you don't mind waiting for a few minutes." He jerked his head at Riff, who had turned to leave now that the coat and hat were hanging neatly.

With a bitten back sigh of exhaustion-he did have other work that needed to be done-Riff turned on his heel again, bowing to the nobleman. "If you'll follow me, please," he elaborated quietly.

He turned down the hallway, the Earl Hargreaves trailing behind, looking excessively bored, slim hands clasped behind him, dark hair artfully tousled. So this was Earl Hargreaves, the lady-killer earl, the prince of poison whose footsteps Death itself stalked… He seemed as arrogant as the rumors claimed, gold-green eyes lazily watching the landscapes on the wall as opposed to where Riff was leading him. It actually took a moment for the noble to notice Riff had stopped walking and was holding the door for him. His ears colored faintly, and Riff bit his lip in an attempt to hide the laugh that, against all logic and propriety, was in the back of his throat.

The Earl gave him a look akin to that of a cat whose dignity had been wrenched from it abruptly, possibly by having a bunch of water dumped on it, and stalked into the room to let himself fall gracefully across the settee. Riff took the brief opportunity to school his expression again, before offering "If there is anything you might need, the staff is of course at your disposal."

"The only thing I _need_," the earl snapped waspishly, lifting his cane to examine the end of it with narrowed and angled eyes-he'd refused to relinquish it at the door. "Is for Lord Gladstone to not primp and play with his toilette for half an hour to prove he has the power to make me incredibly bored." He glanced at Riff's raised eyebrow, before rolling his eyes in clear disdain of his lack of intelligence and turning his attention back to the pommel of the cane. "Please, it's incredibly obvious he was lying about some sort of loan. A pitiful attempt to impress me with his wealth when in reality he'll be grooming in front of his sitting room mirror." There was a pause while Riff tried not to be impressed by the intelligence that the earl clearly possessed, at odds with the relaxed, lazy way he was lounging on the settee. "Unless you care to entertain me?" he finished in a drawl, tilting his head and an exasperated look in Riff's direction.

"…I can bring you some tea?" Riff offered unsurely.

"No. Thank you." The words were much harsher, the face pinched, before the teen relaxed and turned his head away, boring a hole in the opposite wall. "I don't drink tea brewed by others."

Ah. His toxins. Still surprising, though, to see that level of self-sufficiency in any of his rank. "Understood, milord. If you would like something to drink regardless, I could fetch the needed components for you." A wry smile. "Even taste-test them, if need be."

The aristocrat turned back to him, something Riff might have called soft in his eyes, almost vulnerable, before it was written over again by the calculating, narrow-eyed gaze. It would not do to underestimate this man.

"…Do you often treat guests with such consideration?" he finally asked quietly. He didn't wait for an answer, however, before turning his gaze back to the wall. "Though I suppose your master would be displeased if I wasn't attended to properly. …Yes, tea would be lovely."

Riff almost missed the 'thank you' in the sound of the door closing behind him. …Odd. Perhaps Earl Hargreaves was not so arrogant after all. Gratitude was not to be given to servants, after all. Why thank something for performing its purpose?

The opinion had been greatly discounted when Riff returned with the tea tray itself, holding only the canister of tea, the hot water, sugar and cream. The nobleman ignored him entirely as the door opened, continued to ignore him as he set the tea tray out on the table, and, true to his word, sampled the cream, sugar, and scalding water. He glanced up to meet green cat-eyes before they wandered back to the ceiling.

Riff knew a dismissal when he was given one, and straightened, bowed, before leaving the room.

An odd aristocrat, to be sure.


	4. Chapter 4

Riff checked his watch. It read twenty six minutes and thirty two seconds after two o' clock. A bit of mental math assured him this was only forty four seconds after he had last checked it. …Forty six, now. He clicked it shut and pressed it to his forehead again. Unfortunately, he'd done this so often in the last five minutes that the metal was no longer cool and was certainly no longer helpful to calming his nerves. And, besides, his watch might be running a little bit fast-Miss Harrell might think she had another ten minutes before meeting him, here.

He wouldn't last another ten minutes.

He _really _needed to calm down.

Twenty seven minutes, and twenty one seconds.

"You look nervous," a woman observed from behind him, and Riff straightened immediately, tucking the watch away. He wilted slightly when he realized that she-whoever she was-wasn't addressing him at all, but another friend of hers. The pair linked arms and walked away, gossiping about whatever the woman's reason was.

Riff sighed. Calm. These nerves were so completely unlike him, but… He found himself fidgeting with his watch again, and put it away resolutely.

There was a quiet rustle of silk, a glimpse of green and white, and Riff looked up to meet mischievous green eyes framed by black hair. "Mr. Raffit?"

His mouth worked for a moment, abruptly dry, before he swallowed sharply and smiled. "Miss Harrell," he said in return, voice quiet.

"You look as if you might bolt," she observed with a shy laugh. "Do I make you that nervous?"

Eager, Riff almost replied, but that wouldn't do, so he answered "No, of course not," instead. "It's simply… I suppose I was nervous, but I wasn't-ah, never mind." He stood again, holding out an arm. "Would you walk with me, milady?"

This earned him a faint frown. "Don't," she said haughtily, though she took his arm without a second thought, and the two walked down one of the many branching paths. "Titles aren't appropriate here."

Riff blinked in confusion. "…Pardon?"

"Well, Mr. Raffit," she said, looking up at him coyly, "this is a secretmeeting, isn't it? I don't imagine that titles are quite that important, particularly in secret meetings. In fact, I insist you call me Mary."

"Miss Harrell, I cannot do that!" Riff started, feeling slightly shocked. "If you were a younger daughter in the family, perhaps, but-"

"Well, then I have an older sister." Miss Harrell said flippantly, with an arrogant toss of her head. One lock of black hair slid into her eyes, and Riff resisted the urge to touch it. "Her name is Constance, and she has a wart on her chin," she added.

Riff laughed quietly. "Miss Harrell…"

The woman looked wounded. "Do you not believe me?" she asked plaintively, eyes wide as she stared up at him.

The servant hesitated. "In all honesty, miss… No. Not at all."

"Good," she conceded, and leaned against his arm. "You shouldn't, I'm not telling the truth at all. I'm the eldest, but I still demand you call me Mary."

"Miss-"

"_Miss _Mary, then, if you so insist. But I shan't call you Mr. Raffit anymore. You will only be Riff." He could feel his ears heat at the sound of his name from her (really, where was his head?), and carefully studied one of the plants until he felt as if he might be more in control of his expressions. When Riff looked back down at the woman, he found her watching him again, studying him through her eyelashes. "I've embarrassed you, haven't I?" she said. She sounded far too pleased with this prospect. "Haven't I, Riff? Have I shocked you already?" She laughed again, and rested her cheek on his shoulder. "I'm really quite a wicked person…" she mused quietly.

"Miss Mary, you shouldn't say such things," Riff reprimanded her.

"Shouldn't I?" she asked quietly. "It is true, after all… Ah! But!" she seemed broken out of whatever dark thoughts she had wandered into. "You called me Mary."

"Miss Mary," Riff corrected her, smiling again when she waved the detail away.

"It's still a far sight better than Miss Harrell, or worse, milady," she pointed out, brushing hair out of her face again and wrinkling her nose. "Besides, Riff, as I said… This is a secret meeting, and certainly no place for titles."

Riff couldn't help but agree with her, if only reluctantly. After all, the title would only serve as a reminder of their class difference, wouldn't it? "…As you wish, I suppose," he finally conceded.

They continued arm in arm for a moment, Riff pleased to simply feel her hand resting lightly on his own arm, even if through the sleeve of his coat.

"Do you have any siblings?" Miss Mary asked abruptly, as they wandered past a tropical tree. "I wished to meet you again to learn more about you, and have yet to. Except that you are far too proper in these sorts of matters, of course, but that hardly counts."

"I… did," Riff allowed, smiling at her humor. "A younger brother, who died several years ago, now."

Miss Mary paused, only for a moment. "I'm… sorry to bring it up again," she finally said quietly. Riff just shook his head.

"We weren't exactly close," he reassured her. "There was a house-fire, you see. It's sheer luck I survived… Ah, but I'm-"

"No," she interrupted quietly, hand tightening on his arm. "No, Riff, as I said, I wish to learn more about you. Unless it's painful," she added unsurely, watching his face attentively.

"Not… particularly so, no. Would you like to sit for a moment, Miss Mary?" he offered quietly, catching sight of a nearby bench. She nodded agreement, letting Riff guide her off the pathway. "I simply had hoped to avoid such a morbid topic," Riff elaborated as they sat. He startled another laugh out of her.

"Riff, I probably have far too morbid a sense of humor," she explained, taking his hand between hers again. "Particularly for a lady… Besides, I wasn't lying. I want to know. Tell me. Please."

The servant sighed, but nodded. "There's really not that much to tell. The memories are confused, at the least. I…" He trailed off, closing his eyes. "I only remember the heat, the need to get out. I've still scars on my arms… My parents and younger brother both died, and what assets we had evaporated entirely. I was incapable of finishing my degree, so-"

"You were a student?" Miss Mary asked, startled.

"Yes, of a middle class family. I was less than a year from completing a medical degree, in fact. A friend of my father had charge of me-a good thing, too, as I know I was not… mentally well, at the time." One hand wandered to the line of his sleeve, tugging at it reflexively, remembering red, remembering silver, remembering far, far too much white. Riff hurried quickly on. "I only met the man twice, maybe three times, in my life, but he's the reason I have a job at all. I believe the old Earl Hargreaves would have hired me himself, but there weren't any openings at the time, by my understanding."

Miss Mary stiffened, shifting away from him. "You… you knew the former Earl Hargreaves?" she asked, hand moving to clutch at his elbow.

"Only in the most superficial sense of the word," Riff reassured her, taking her hand and loosening her grip, so that he could hold it tightly instead. Her fingers clutched at his for assurance, and Riff studied their hands together for a long moment. He had upset her, he shouldn't be pleased. "I upset you," he finally voiced. "I'm sorry. Had I known the name to be so abhorrent to you, I'd never have mentioned it."

"No," she said quietly, and Riff glanced up to see that she, too, was studying the way their fingers were interlaced, black silken glove resting against his own bare palm. "No, it's only that… my family… has had dealings with the man. In the past… Nothing more."

"I've still upset you," Riff said quietly, watching her face. Her eyes were a little too hard. "I promise you, I had little contact with the man after Lord Gladstone hired me. I met his heir for the first time a few days ago." There was a flicker of something in her eyes again, and she looked at him with an almost amused smile.

"And your opinion?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.

"He was… odd," Riff finally settled on, finding it difficult to decide upon anything remotely appropriate.

"How so?" Her hand was still on his arm, her tone casual-a little too casual, in fact. Riff wondered how she'd known him, but then chided himself for being dense. Count Hargreaves was known as a lady killer, and Miss Mary, as beautiful and wonderful as she was, surely… Riff swallowed, and tried to bring his mind back to the conversation.

"He… wasn't much like his father at all. The late Earl… What I remember of him is mostly his arrogance, his bearing of superiority in everything he did. From his son, however… the attitude struck me much more as an act. If that makes any sense."

There was silence for a long moment, Riff looking thoughtfully at the people who passed. "You've given an incredible amount of thought to a man you met so recently," the young woman finally observed. Riff couldn't quite identify the emotion in her voice. Perhaps he'd been right?

He shrugged, brushing his thumb lightly across the back of her hand. "As I said, Miss Mary. He was odd, and odd things tend to stick more in one's memory than others."

"I see," she said, with another bright laugh, resting her head on his shoulder again. Their hands still had yet to separate. "I suppose that's why you stuck in my head," she added teasingly, one ankle crossing behind the other.

"Am I odd, then?" Riff asked, amused, still preoccupied by her hand in his, further distracted by the light brush of raven-feather hair against his cheek.

"But of course. You're a servant, yet you act as a gentleman. You're infalliably proper, yet you agree to meet with me. You're quite handsome, compared to many men. Most of all, though, you're… kind."

Shyly, Riff released her hand to shift his arm so that he could, finally, touch her cheek, skin soft under his fingertips. "…Miss Mary, you…" She looked up at him, quiet. He couldn't quite manage to speak.

"I?" she prompted quietly, before her eyes sparkled with mischief again. "Are you going to take advantage of me, Riff?"

The servant abruptly realized that he had, in fact, been leaning entirely too close to her to be able to explain away, and had been doing so entirely unaware of his posture. He pulled away, broke eye contact, and tried desperately to regain his calm. She laughed again, a high, free sound, and immediately snuggled back into his side. "Don't be like that, Riff, I quite wish you would-" she started, before turning abruptly pink herself. "I mean to say… that is- oh, drat you!" Miss Mary huffed and buried her face in his shoulder, and it was his turn to chuckle quietly.

"Perhaps we might continue walking?" he suggested. Walking would, at least, give him something to concentrate on aside from her beauty, her hand in his...

"Yes," she said slowly, pulling away after too short a moment. "Yes, of course-Oh, but!" she started suddenly, standing. "I hadn't meant to monopolize your time like this. I'm sure you've other things you'd meant to do with your afternoon-"

Riff caught her hand again, folding it between both of his own and looking up at her seriously. "Miss Mary, I assure you, there is nothing I would rather do than spend time with you, especially as long as my time is my own," he promised her. Never breaking eye contact, he raised her hand to his lips, glancing away only to kiss it gently, before releasing it.

Miss Mary looked stunned for a moment, before sighing and closing her eyes. "…Riff… you are far too good to me," she finally breathed, but caught his hand to tug him to his feet before he could protest or think too much of the comment. "Yes, let's keep walking. If you insist upon sharing your time this way, I will certainly not prevent you."

Relieved, Riff smiled and stood, offering his arm to her shyly.


	5. Chapter 5

"How did it go?"

Riff blinked at Lizzie, taken aback. "…Pardon?" he asked politely. Giving the bedclothes one last good shake, he folded the comforter at the foot of the bed.

Lizzie put her hands on her hips, looking highly displeased. "Your date!" she hissed. "Please, Mr. Raffit, I'm unbearably curious!"

Oh. He had not expected an interrogation… "You should be working," Riff informed her as sternly as he could. "Doesn't Mrs. Elliot have something for you to do?"

"As if I'm the only one who's curious. I volunteered for liaison. That's the word, isn't it?" She asked, smoothing her uniform with two hands.

"You are only verifying it's a good idea to keep quiet," Riff informed her, shaking out the pillows and turning to leave the guest bedroom. She followed, determinedly.

"Are you meeting with her again, at least?" she demanded next.

Yes, they were, and his heart gave an odd little hitch of anticipation at the thought. Another two weeks… "It's not proper to speak about a lady's business," he reminded Lizzie. Again.

"Everyone wants to know, Mr. Raffit! It's like something out of a story," she protested, crossing her arms.

Riff sighed. Or out of the weekly gossip, and those never ended well… "Lizzie, no. You have work to do, go do it."

"You are, aren't you?" she demanded with a grin. "You're actually smiling! You are, you are!"

"Lizzie…"

"When? Where? Oh, I'm so excited! Did you kiss her last time?"

"Lizzie, work," he said again, beginning to get a headache. Unfortunately, no, he hadn't kissed her, but that was a detail he was certainly _not _going to share.

"But you arranged another meeting…?" She was persistent, he'd allow that.

"…Yes," he finally conceded. "She asked to meet with me again. Now go ask Mrs. Elliot to give you a job."

"This _was _the job. Mrs. Elliot's one of the 'everyone,'" she replied with a cheeky grin, and scurried off before he could manage any sort of reply.

Riff suspected this migraine was one of many to come…

**A/N: Posting two chapters today, because this one is rather short, and in celebration! I've finished the actual story. After these two chapters, I'll post a new chapter every Monday until the story itself is complete! Regardless of whether anyone is actually reading it or not... I'm having difficulty telling.**

**Also, I've received my first two reviews! I was very excited. I've already PM-ed the wonderful Genesisuc, my first reviewer, with thanks and a reply. My second is, unfortunately, anonymous. **

**But, Akami, if you are reading, thank you very much for taking the time to review my story! I don't know why so few other people have... The biggest compliment someone can give me, as far as I'm concerned, is that my characters are well done. I'm glad you like Miss Mary so much! (Riff quite agrees with you.) **

**Final note. I've modified the summary slightly, to make it more accurate for the story I have written. I hope this doesn't cause any problems or confusion! **


	6. Chapter 6

The Earl Hargreaves returned for another visit with Lord Gladstone, to Riff's confusion. They hadn't seemed to like each other particularly much, but aristocrats had a peculiar way of liking each other, and Riff shouldn't be thinking such things anyway. He admitted to himself a bit more curiosity than he had last visit, after Miss Mary's reaction to the name, so this time it wasn't a coincidence when Riff brought him the tea components.

Except the nobleman wasn't there.

Riff swore, out loud, something he hadn't done for years. Putting the tray down on a side table, he immediately left to find the wayward guest. He had, at most, twenty minutes before Lord Gladstone came to visit with the earl, probably more like fifteen. The manor was big, though… _Well, if I were a trouble making, scandalous and idiotic earl, where would I go?_ Except… Earl Hargreaves wasn't idiotic, was, in fact, very intelligent. He clearly had a serious dislike for Lord Gladstone, and yet he had returned… Riff stopped walking along the guest wing, preoccupied with his thoughts. Why would Earl Hargreaves come back, except…?

Well. Riff could at least check.

Earl Cain Hargreaves was, in fact, kneeling on the floor outside of Lord. Gladstone's private study. It took Riff a moment to comprehend exactly why. "…You can pick locks?" he demanded.

The young man jumped, and jammed one finger on the door handle, a stream of quiet curses escaping him.

Riff raised one eyebrow. "I quite assure you my mother was neither restrained nor paid for copulating with my father. What, exactly, are you doing, Earl Hargreaves?" he demanded again. "Not even servants are allowed in Lord Gladstone's study, and _you _are supposed to be in the sitting room."

The brunet shot him a glare over his shoulder, still kneeling in front of the lock, before ignoring him resolutely and finishing. The handle turned easily. "Not bad with one finger incapacitated," he muttered. If he wasn't an aristocrat, Riff would say he was sulking. And a criminal.

"Earl Hargreaves-"

"I'm getting proof that Lord Cassandra Gladstone is heavily involved in the sale and prostitution of preteen girls and boys. Also, I suspect, in the sudden rash of bombings in the area, given that most of the destroyed properties were either bought up by men in his employ or belonged to people who opposed him," the young earl explained casually, opening the door and crossing the room. "Just pretend you didn't see me, hm?"

"…That's ridiculous," Riff hesitated on the threshold, before following him in. The room was shockingly organized, given the commanded lack of attention. Earl Hargreaves's efficient search was equally shocking. He didn't rifle through papers haphazardly, hoping to find something. He ignored the papers out on the desk, and any unlocked cabinets. Instead, he searched for personal correspondence and fiddled with each desk drawer. It took Riff a moment to figure out he was taking quick measurement estimations of the depth and back-checking for secret compartments. "…You've done this sort of thing before, haven't you?" Riff asked, somewhere between bewildered and scandalized. "You actually-"

The earl looked up, startled. "You're still here?" There was a beat of silence, and the nobleman narrowed his eyes at him thoughtfully. "…You're not afraid of me."

Riff ignored the comment. "I'd very much appreciate it, Earl Hargreaves, if you could return to the sitting room _immediately,_" he bit out instead, beginning to get yet another headache.

His words were ignored in turn, again, though he earned a long, very thoughtful look. The nobleman turned back to his search, Riff growing more agitated.

There was a sudden noise of discovery. "Found it! Look here, if you still don't believe me. Letters back and forth between the Belk boys and Lord Gladstone… Fool, he even marked them with his seal." He held one out, held casually between two fingers. "Plenty of evidence. Drugs, too, Lord Gladstone? Ah, I could sing, if it wasn't so undignified…"

"And of course you must preserve your dignity," Riff mumbled absently, gingerly opening and reading the letter addressed to the nobleman, from, as he had said, the Belk boys. It was only after Earl Hargreaves laughed that he realized what he had said.

"Well," he drawled, leaning against the desk and meeting Riff's eyes unashamedly. "You're _definitely _not afraid of me. I'm glad you have a personality, most servants don't. I'll take that back," he said, plucking the paper out of Riff's hands again and folding it back up. It disappeared under his coat with a flourish. The nobleman shut away the secret compartment the letters had come from and looked over his shoulder at Riff. "Are you coming?"

"…What?"

"I'm assuming there's tea in the sitting room, and I'll need a taste tester." The nobleman smiled at him winningly, and Riff found himself following him, shutting the door behind the pair.

**A/N: Final chapter for tonight! See you all next week. In the meantime, please take the time to tell me what you enjoyed or didn't enjoy in this fic. It's been said before, but feedback is invaluable to an author, and while I have completed the work, I compulsively edit for improvement. Please, please, let me know! **


	7. Chapter 7

The morning headline two days later read "Lord Cassandra Gladstone Exposed As Fraud." The story detailed an anonymous tip, with evidence, given to the police, and a confession given by the eldest brother of the bombing ring.

Needless to say, Gladstone protested the accusations with righteous indignation, though he was arrested anyway-the threat held a great deal of weight, much more than the amount of money given as bribes for silence. With the confession and article, the Yard was under a great deal of public pressure to make the arrest-not even an aristocrat could escape such a scandal unscathed.

Earl Hargreaves had succeeded in exposing Lord Gladstone, then… The trial date was set quickly, but Gladstone disappeared long before, rumors of cowardly suicide or avoidance of responsibility surrounding his escape.

Without a single close relative or a defined will, let alone a defined _death_, the estate would be bickered over by second and third cousins for months, if not years. Many of the other servants had already left. Lizzie had found a place at the word of one of her friends, Mrs. Elliot had been hired by the Jamesons. They were cutting the staff, drastically, and Riff knew he only had a limited time before he, too, would be without a job.

For the second time in his life, Riff had no idea what to do.

Earl Cain Hargreaves caught him on the street, when Riff was so wrapped up in his own thoughts the young man had to actually grab his arm to earn his attention. Needless to say, the earl was the last person he expected to see.

"You know," the nobleman said casually, looking up at him with a devil-may-care smile, "I don't believe I ever caught your name."

"…Riff Raffit," he said slowly, wondering what on God's good earth he was getting into now.

He continued to smile. "I'm glad I ran into you-I was not looking forward to coming to that ghastly manor again. I was thinking that, well, clearly there's been some trouble with that particular household recently, most of the servants must be looking for new employment…"

"…Are you offering me a job?" Riff asked skeptically. However interviews were supposed to go, and he'd never had a proper one, really, he was fairly sure this wasn't it.

"Yes." The smile widened. "As my manservant. Or valet, if you prefer."

If Riff hadn't already been blindsided by the offer, he certainly was by the position. "As _what?" _

"Don't pretend you're not intelligent, Mr. Raffit, we both know it's not true. I want to hire you as my valet."

"Surely, Earl Hargreaves, you have an appropriate one already-"

"Poisoned himself. Accidentally, of course. It was transdermal, and I did warn him not to try to clean up my laboratory. Besides, I have reason to believe his bookkeeping was never quite accurate. Once he recovered, I fired him. Though he did give me some decent qualitative data," came the flippant reply.

Riff blinked, trying to follow the quick subject changes. "Earl Hargreaves, I am a footman. Someone who actually has experience as a valet, who possesses those credentials, would surely be more helpful."

"I suspect you'd learn the job quickly enough. Besides, you're intelligent, clever, already make allowances for what idiosyncrasies you know of, and aren't afraid of me. I certainly consider those adequate credentials." The nobleman took a step back, cane tapping against the sidewalk. "I expect you to report to my manor house tomorrow by-oh, say, two o'clock?"

Riff blinked. "…Friday," he bargained instead. "I can't tomorrow."

Earl Hargreaves raised both eyebrows and tilted his head to one side. "You have plans?"

"Yes," Riff said firmly, hoping the earl couldn't see the flutter of joy reflected on his face, as seemed to always happen when he thought of Miss Mary. Tomorrow. He swallowed.

"…Very well," he conceded after a long moment. "Friday, but by noon on Friday. I would like to go over your salary and the duties expected of you."

"If I take the job," Riff reminded him. Miss Mary didn't seem to approve of Earl Cain Hargreaves as a matter of principle. Working for him might be difficult…

"…If you take the job," the earl agreed with a nod, though there was curiosity in his eyes. "Either way, Friday at noon?"

"…Yes, sir." Riff bowed to him reflexively, and, with one last unreadable smile, the earl turned to go.

**A/N: Posting a little bit early, because things are happening to me tomorrow like classes and tests and studying and papers I really ought to finish. Something of a short chapter (sorry!), but I like this one. Oh, Cain. You just love to scandalize Riff... **

**Akami: The story is entirely completed, yes, and should be 20 or 21 chapters in total. I'm not sure whether to split up the final chapter into two or not, but it'll probably be just one. As for word count, it's over 20k... and for your worries about the summary-well. That would be telling, wouldn't it? I actually expected people to figure everything out pretty quickly-I'm surprised no one has. **

**I'm glad those scenes in particular amused you. I'm afraid that's the last we'll see of Lizzie, but she did, after all, find another job and settled down somewhere else. And I've always kind of wondered if, in the canon, Riff was aware of that particular talent of Cain's. (He picks the lock on his and Mary Weather's bedroom door in Butterfly Mansion, Volume 3 of Godchild, to cite the source of that moment's inspiration.) It's just something so blatantly CRIMINAL, I have difficulty imagining him actually approving, you know? **

**And I shall leave you all until next week, with a final plea for reviews! Again, tell me what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong, and if any of you have guesses about what may happen in the end... Feel free to send them. **


	8. Chapter 8

"I got a job offer," Riff brought up carefully the next afternoon. He'd been the one to decide the place this time, and had suggested another walk, this time through Hyde Park. He'd toyed with the idea of bringing a picnic basket, but decided against it. He wasn't sure if raiding the kitchens for something like that would be… advised, at this point.

"Really?" Miss Mary asked, hand in his. "I was worried about you, when I saw the newspapers… Though, really… was it true? What they printed?"

Riff hummed thoughtfully. "I'll tell you the letters weren't forged," he said finally. "Though I'd rather not tell you who found the letters, if you don't mind…"

The young woman grinned at him. "Was it you?"

"No, I was not the anonymous informant," Riff explained patiently. "Though, Miss Mary, I… I might not take the job offer."

"Why ever not?" she demanded, stopping and pulling on his arm with a frown.

"Because the man who offered it was Earl Cain Hargreaves," he explained. There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. "It's a position well above what I am trained to do, as well-he wants me to be his _valet, _and I've never done anything of the sort! It's a risk I don't understand. I feel like he must have other reasons…"

"…Perhaps he thought you worthy of the position?" Miss Mary said slowly, in an odd tone of voice. Riff didn't notice.

"Perhaps. Though it's still so… My question, though, Miss Mary… Would you object to my taking the job?"

She stopped walking entirely, staring up at him, green eyes confused. "…Why on Earth would I object?" she asked.

Riff ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Because last time the name of the household came up, you reacted… poorly. I've nothing against the earl, but your family has clearly had some difficulties with that household in the past, and you in particular seemed… well, you seemed to-" He fumbled for another few moments, trying to articulate.

Miss Mary's eyes were again calculating, narrowed. She looked displeased. "Seemed what, Riff?" she asked, sweetly. He swallowed.

"As if… Well, as if you and the Earl had had… some sort of… dealing, in the past," Riff finally settled on. "I was unsure if my working for him would be problematic…"

"…Are you suggesting I had had some sort of romantic relationship with the Earl Hargreaves?" Her hand tightened on his arm.

She did not sound pleased. At all. Er… "…Yes?"

Riff was very confused when the lady burst out laughing, almost clutching at his arm to stay upright. "Miss Mary?"

"Oh-Riff… Oh, you don't understand…" she gasped, trying to stop laughing. "That idea-I'm sorry. You don't know how ridiculous... I'm sorry, but-I would never let myself be seduced by Cain Hargreaves. I know his tricks, you see-" A small smile. "Inside and out… I'm not that easy, Riff, and most of the girls he chases… well, they are."

Riff tried to ignore how pink he felt. "…Oh."

Miss Mary smiled at him again, and tugged on his hand to continue their walk. "I would not object at all if you worked for the Hargreaves family, Riff," she said, still smiling. "As flattered as I am that you would consider it…" She squeezed his hand lightly. "Riff, this is a fantastic opportunity for _you. _You said he wanted to hire you as a valet, yes? That's going to be more money, more stability…"

"His last valet apparently poisoned himself," Riff pointed out dryly. "Accidentally. I'm not so sure stability is something I should be seeking in this particular position, Miss Mary."

She laughed again. "Still! This is a much better job than your last one, and I think you should take it."

Riff took a deep breath. "You're sure?" he asked, still worried.

"Yes, Riff, I am," she said insistently again, still smiling. "I think it's a good idea. I don't hate Cain Hargreaves that much… just his father." She was smiling, but something in her eyes was hard, brittle. Riff almost asked why it looked as if she might cry.

He kissed her instead.


	9. Chapter 9

Riff showed up early for his interview, if that was what it was, and was immediately directed to the study. It looked as if at least half of it had been repurposed into a chemistry lab, with the other half still clutching at the original function by a thread. Letters were stacked on the desk, but there were also the occasional papers (with circular soot stains or chemical splashes) scattered throughout the glassware.

Riff was smart enough not to touch anything.

"You're early," the earl commented from the door, leaning against the frame.

"Only by a couple of minutes, sir," Riff replied. As unsure as he was, it wouldn't do to flatter or scrape. He had a distinct feeling that the teen would not only notice immediately, but also wouldn't appreciate the effort.

"Mm. Perhaps your watch is fast." It wasn't directed at him, and Cain entered the room, waving towards a chair imperiously. "Sit, please. I take it you have considered my offer?"

"Yes, sir," Riff agreed, sitting as Cain did so. "I… I greatly appreciate-"

"Have you gotten over whatever distaste you have for me to accept, then?" the brunet asked dryly, folding his fingers in front of his face. For a moment, it looked as though they trembled. Riff frowned faintly.

"There wasn't a particular distaste, but do keep in mind, Earl Hargreaves, that thus far the majority of my interactions with you have consisted of you picking a lock, stealing papers, disgracing a man who utterly deserved it, and offering a higher position than I have any right to hold in the middle of the street." Riff watched him carefully, wondering if he'd stepped a bit too far, but there was something like amusement in his green-gold eyes. Really, an odd color…

"Well, how else was I supposed to offer it to you? We met on the street, why shouldn't we speak on the street? Besides, his manor is horrid and claustrophobic and I hated it nearly as much as I hated him. Though I suppose the building can't really help however its built…" He lowered his hands. "So you'll agree to the position?"

If he knew more precisely what, exactly, he was getting into, he might. "Well-"

"Ah, payment, of course. Is forty pounds satisfactory?"

Riff blinked. That was twice-"Every year?"

"Monthly."

He fell silent, taken aback. Oh. …Well, then. That was… though… "Sir, forty pounds a year is certainly adequate, let alone every month. Please, I cannot accept such extravagance."

The young nobleman watched him for another far too long moment, to the point where Riff began to feel rather like a mouse, pinned and played with by jade cats eyes, as absurd as it was when he stood a foot taller than the earl, at least. "…Eighty then, yearly. You're a very odd man, Riff."

He had opened his mouth to argue, again, before shutting it in surprise at the comment. _He _was odd? When the man sitting across from him was fascinated by toxicology to an unhealthy degree, had hired a man he knew next to nothing about, could _pick locks-_Riff was beginning to wonder if he should accept the position already, just so he could keep the young earl out of trouble. All he'd done was turn down an exorbitant salary… "…If you say so, Earl Hargreaves."

There was a smile on the nobleman's face that made Riff slightly uncomfortable, as if the nobleman knew what he was thinking, or there was a secret he was skirting around. "I'm a very… odd, aristocrat, and I'm well aware of it." Riff swallowed. The former, then. "That's not news to me. But I'm afraid the rumors flying around are just the beginning. For instance, it's proper to call a valet by the last name, is it not? A sign of respect. I refuse to. My valet I expect to be rather close to me-I respect him, yes, but I fully intend to call you 'Riff' anyway. I hope you don't mind."

"Master Hargreaves-" Valet, right, he was supposed to be his valet now, that was the right title, wasn't-

"Another thing. Not Hargreaves." What? "This is where the fact that first name is not a sign of disrespect comes in. Cain, I want you to call me Cain. Well, Lord Cain or Master Cain, obviously, don't _combust _with indignation, good Heavens. But certainly notHargreaves. Or 'Earl', ever. Ah, let's see…" His fingers folded under his nose, before they lowered, tracing his thoughts through the air. "Other idiosyncrasies, yes. Luckily, you've already encountered my tea issue. Don't worry, it doesn't extend to actual food, or, usually, wine, only tea. You cleared the hurdle quite nicely my first visit to the Gladstone manor, and quite… unexpectedly, as well, if you don't mind my saying." Green gold eyes slid away nervously, tapered fingers drummed once on the table. "Oh, of course, it's standard practice for a valet to dress and undress, is it not? I do not expect you to do so. I am perfectly capable of doing it myself, it's ridiculous, the sort of power play some nobles are involved in, I believe. With women I suppose it's more understandable, but men's clothes don't require nearly as much fiddling-" Riff tried not to think about how familiar the earl must be with women's clothing. "Ah, bathing, too. Equally ridiculous." There was a slight twitch in his jaw. Riff wondered what was causing it. "I do expect you to choose the clothing for the day, at least, and everything else… Really, though, I believe most of the job shall be accounting."

"…Accounting." Riff repeated, still fighting to absorb the sudden rush of information. "Pardon me, Master Ha-" The aristocrat raised an eyebrow at him. "…Master Cain. But… You would trust a mid-ranked footman from a disgraced household with the records of you fortune?" A bit of the skepticism he felt leaked into his voice. If he was as honest with himself as he usually was, a small measure of panic was there as well, but today he was breaking all sorts of habits.

"Yes," the young earl replied glibly, the expression on his face innocent.

Riff didn't buy it for a second. He was _enjoying _this. "…_Why?" _

He leaned back, pressing the tips of his fingers together and watching Riff with catlike eyes over them. "…Because you asked that question."

"What?"

"I hired you, because it seemed to me that, out of all the men and women I've met on this God forsaken planet, you seem… honest. You seem honest." There was a flash of … something, in his eyes, that Riff was tempted to call vulnerability. "And someday, I'd like to trust you. You already know I do odd things, have odd… tastes. Yet you still agreed to work with me, argued _down _your salary instead of trying for as much as possible, haven't assumed any sort of employment here and you're worried for the state of my finances. You… are very different. You try not to act as though you are, and I don't understand why, but, there you have it. Riff…" A mischievous grin flashed across his face, and he closed his eyes, before opening them again with a contemplative look. "I think you're just as curious about me as I am about you. I'm going to drive you crazy, but… I don't think you're going to return the favor, and that is rare indeed."

"…You are…" Insane. Determined. Stubborn. Eccentric. Riff trailed off, thinking that there really wasn't an adequate word to describe how bewildering his reasons were making him. "…Unhelpful," he finally settled for.

"You can still quit," his new master pointed out, fingers folding now in front of his lips, covering the lower half of his face.

"…No. No, I don't think I can," Riff murmured, trying to figure out… Well, he was unbearably curious, wasn't he?

The aristocrat's face tilted up, and he was given a bright 'I-told-you-so' smile. "Wonderful. When can you start?"

**A/N: The reason Riff is so shocked by being paid forty pounds a month... Many maids, particularly in the more stingy households were only paid fifteen pounds every year. I'm imagining he was paid somewhat more than that, since he was moderately high ranked in Gladstone's house, but I can't imagine him being comfortable with something so ridiculously extravagant. **

**Posting two chapters today because I'm not sure I'll get the chance next Monday. I'll be in Florida come this Saturday, and won't be back until the Saturday after that. Whether or not I take my computer... well, we'll see. Maybe I'm just being paranoid and you'll all get a bonus chapter. **

**Review Response:**

**Guest: I agree, as far as there being nothing Riff can do about it. Clearly it's a skill Cain possesses, for good or for ill. I have no idea where he learned it. I really don't. (Watch that be the next one-shot I write...) And I think Cain worries a great deal about approval and scandal-namely, he loves to cause trouble and make Riff exasperated with him. I'm glad you're enjoying this story so much! I hope you continue to enjoy it... **

**Let me know how I'm doing in this weird new comment system, I suppose? Ah well. Feedback, please! Good things, bad things, things you noticed, things you think are missing... Just things? Please?**


	10. Chapter 10

Willful, Riff learned rather early into his new job, was one of the more polite ways to describe his new master's younger sister. Rambunctious was more accurate, as was mischievous.

Precocious, too, and rather like her brother. He was laying a fire in the library's hearth, when the blonde whirlwind stumbled into the room, darting behind the chair. "Miss Mary Weather?"

"Etiquette!" She protested breathlessly, moving from behind the chair to behind the drapes, carefully concealing herself from the doorway. Sure enough, the most recent tutor-Beatrice, he believed, Miss Beatrice Stoker-stalked by the doorway. She glanced inside only briefly, saw only a servant, and continued down the hallway with a huff.

The child waited another two minutes before emerging from her hiding place. "Dollymop," she muttered under her breath.

Riff dropped his kindling. "Miss Mary Weather!"

"What?" She, at least, had the decency to look mildly guilty, though she also sat directly on the edge of the hearth, ignoring the fact that she was wearing a white dress and covering the lacy hem with sooth. "She won't know I said it." Seeing that she still lacked his approval-a ten year old! A ten year old girl! Of a noble family!-the blonde quickly changed the subject. "Riff, I have a question."

The valet sighed, still not sure that he wanted to know where Miss Mary Weather had heard the term, or what her brother would do if he found out (laugh or yell, but which one?). "I'm not sure I'm the sort of person to ask questions of, Miss Mary Weather. One of your tutors would surely be better suited?"

She frowned at the not-so-subtle prodding on the subject of her lessons. "My brother told you to say that."

"Master Cain couldn't possibly know that you wished to ask me a question."

"Of course he does. I asked my brother first, and he said I would have to ask you, since it's about you anyway."

Riff looked at her in slight surprise. It looked as if both siblings were odd, though… Riff remembered the looks of adoration, or protectiveness, on his master's face when he thought his younger sister couldn't see. Though very, very close, as well. "Well, I suppose you should ask your question, then, Miss Mary Weather," Riff decided with a small smile. If anything, the most troublesome thing about the young mistress was how cheerful she was-it made denying her anything particularly difficult.

"Why don't you call me Miss Mary? All the other servants do, and big brother calls me Mary. But you just call me Miss Mary Weather, the full name, all the time."

Riff blinked, surprised she had even noticed, but the girl continued on. "I'm usually only called the full name when I'm in trouble, but you don't scold me as much as Mrs. Lewis does, and you laugh more than the others, so I don't think it's that you don't like me. But there must be a reason. I thought my big brother might know, but he said he didn't and to ask you. Why do you always call me Miss Mary Weather?"

It took a moment of the girl staring at him, large, blue eyes demanding answers, before Riff realized she'd stopped talking. "Well… Miss Mary Weather-"

"You did it again!"

Riff smiled slightly at her indignation. "Miss Mary Weather," he repeated firmly, "I'm afraid that the name 'Miss Mary' has already been taken by someone else in my mind, someone I met before I met you. To keep the two of you separate more easily, I've taken to calling you Miss Mary Weather. If you mind, I can stop."

Miss Mary Weather thought about this for a moment, kicking her shoes against the rug. Riff set another few sticks into the hearth. "…You have another Miss Mary?"

"Yes," he agreed, shredding some paper to catch more easily.

"She must be very important to you."

This time, Riff hesitated for a moment before answering. "Yes. Yes, she is very important to me."

The girl stood in a flurry of silk and lace. "Okay! You have a good reason for it, so it's all right if you don't call me Miss Mary. My brother thought it was just you being odd, but I knew you actually had a reason!"

Before Riff could call her back, ask her not to mention his Miss Mary, she was already gone, turning the opposite way from her severe tutor. Oh, well… Hopefully there wouldn't be any rumors resulting from the conversation. She was a child, after all, and perhaps didn't make the full connection-not, Riff reminded himself, lighting the fire with a taper, there was any sort of connection to make. And she did have sense, more than women twice her age, as far as gossip was concerned…

Riff decided quite firmly that he was being paranoid, stoked the fire again, dusted the knees of his trousers, and left the library. It was nearly two, which meant Master Cain would be expecting his tea in the library in half an hour, and he would need to fetch it. Well, the parts of it, anyway.

**A/N: I'll be posting a second chapter tonight, as well, since it's so late and this chapter is short. (Plus I wasn't sure if this should be chapter ten or chapter eleven, but I wrote it first, so...) **

**Fun fact: "Dollymop" is the Victorian slang term for an amateur prostitute. No wonder Riff is shocked. **


	11. Chapter 11

It was actually a surprisingly short time before Riff managed to settle into a routine in the Hargreaves household. Every morning, he woke early, dressed, and checked the work roster for the day before going to the kitchens. His breakfast consisted of a strong cup of coffee and perhaps two slices of toast, if he remembered. Breakfast was delivered to Master Cain's room, where he would then wake him and run a bath, leaving the nobleman to clean himself while he organized the room. By the time Master Cain left the bathroom, wrapped tightly in his dressing robe, Riff had chosen an outfit for the day, placed the breakfast and the freshly ironed newspaper on the table, and tidied up the room. They spoke while Master Cain ate, Riff keeping him updated on the staff, the accounts, or any business matters, while the aristocrat gave him any out of the ordinary assignments.

(One such assignment was a particularly undignified mission to catch the starlings plaguing the gardens, so they could be used as test subjects. This was finally achieved with some drugged seed, Miss Mary Weather's persistent 'help,' and the bare minimum of humiliation in the form of many splinters from the wicker cage Riff had had to find and repair. He'd actually been quite pleased with how well the whole incident had turned out.)

Immediately after breakfast, Riff fetched the first collection of mail for the day, delivered it to Master Cain, and left to take care of his work for the morning.

Lunch and tea followed in a similar fashion, but both were shared with Miss Mary Weather, before the younger Hargreaves would reluctantly go to her lessons, and Master Cain would disappear much more eagerly into his study-lab, or his library. Riff was informed at tea time where the young lord would be dining that evening-rarely at home, more often at one society party or another. Riff's evenings ended with reviewing the accounts and ensuring dinner was served for Miss Mary Weather, except for the occasions when Master Cain demanded his attendance at one of the parties, in case he had need of him.

So, yes, there was something of a routine. But his new lord was Earl Cain C. Hargreaves, which meant there was never really a dull moment.

For instance, today Master Cain was late for tea. Riff endured twenty minutes of Miss Mary Weather giving Cook's cherry cake longing looks, or, worse, looking worriedly at _him_ (as if he ever knew what Master Cain was actually thinking). Finally, he gave in. "I'll be back in a moment, Miss Mary Weather," he decided, cutting a small slice of the cake for her. "I'll also," he continued warningly as her face lit up in the way only a child's could, "know if any more of this is missing. Wait for your brother, please." He set the plate in front of her.

"Riff, you're the _best," _she declared fervently, one bite already gone.

"No stains," Riff added, trying to ignore the smile tugging at his lips, before leaving to find his wayward lord.

A week ago, Riff would have checked the library first, but he'd long since given up hope that Master Cain ever lost track of time doing something socially acceptable.

The door to the study was closed, and Riff knocked quietly. No response. He knocked again, more loudly, and this time heard a bitten off curse, as well as what sounded suspiciously like glassware shattering. He immediately opened the door.

Master Cain had dunked his hands in a large basin full of water, the remains of his flask were on the table in front of him, and he looked livid.

"And what, pray tell, requires you interrupting my work?" he demanded sharply, glaring over his shoulder and scrubbing at his hands.

Riff ignored the anger, refusing to feel guilty. Well, too guilty. "Miss Mary Weather was beginning to worry, as you are nearing half an hour's tardiness," he commented lightly. He moved to stand beside him at the table.

The nobleman cursed fluently, scrubbing harder. Riff wondered if Miss Mary Weather had perhaps learned her more creative vocabulary from her brother. "Of course," Master Cain mumbled, sounding at least slightly more contrite than he had a few minutes ago, since he had worried his sister. "And right after you've made me dump bromine all down my front!"

Riff bit his lip lightly, no longer amused. "Isn't that extremely caustic?" he asked carefully, eyeing the discoloration warily.

"You're learning," the brunet observed, voice spiteful, and shook his hands free of the water. "Why do you think I'm swearing? This was one of my favorite shirts, too-What are you doing?"

The aristocrat had turned for his coat, entirely unconcerned by his contaminated shirt. Riff, however, was having none of it, and had grabbed his collar. In less than a minute, Riff had half dragged, half guided a very bewildered Master Cain out of his study, and was ushering him towards his room.

"Shirt off, sir," Riff all but demanded, nudging the door closed, before heading straight to the bathroom to fill the tub. He returned to find the nobleman still staring at him, and still fully clothed. Riff took a deep breath, reminding himself that however cathartic shaking someone could be, it was never advised. "Shirt _off, _Master Cain. Chemical burns are very painful, and are exacerbated by extended exposure, as I'm sure you well know. Shirt off, so we can begin cleaning you up."

He still didn't move, simply blinking at him until Riff, exasperated, attacked his tie. Unfortunately, he reacted in the exact opposite way he'd hoped-namely, instead of realizing Riff was right and he was being an idiot by keeping contaminated clothing against his skin, he actually fought to keep the shirt on. "No! Unhand me, I can do it myself!"

Riff wasn't exactly inclined to listen to him at the moment. Perhaps he would have heard the note of near panic in the teen's voice if he had. As it was, Riff gave him a sharp look, and moved on to the buttons. When he tried to twist away again, Riff only tightened his grip, refusing to let him. "Master Cain!" he finally said, voice sharper than he'd quite meant it to be. "Now is certainly not the time for modesty, so if you would please calm down! I'm trying to take care of you!"

Whatever it was he had said, it worked. The teen froze, staring at him. It was long enough for Riff to get his shirt unbuttoned and off, hanging it on the door knob so he could take it to be cleaned.

"Thank you," Riff said dryly, turning towards him again. "Now, please clean the bromine off. I'll go inform Miss Mary Weather what happened, and take care of the spill in your study as well. I…" He hesitated, looking at the way the teen's shoulders were slightly hunched, how the fingers of one hand were clenched, the other gripping his shoulder. Riff sighed. "I do apologize for startling you, and causing the spill in the first place. It was not my intention to put you in danger. I also apologize for the insistence on cleaning up the mess-I was merely concerned for your safety."

Riff decided not to mention how he'd seen burns before, how they were painful, prone to infection, difficult to treat. How he'd seen a classmate not realize he'd dropped a sliver of sodium hydroxide in his shoe, until it came off and released the scent of necrotized flesh. How he had seen the bone.

He was pretty sure saying something like that was improper. At the very least, he shouldn't give in to his temper.

Neither of them spoke. Finally, cat-green eyes sought out his own, looking startled and confused. His hand slipped off his shoulder, and Riff noticed a thin, curling scar.

"Bath, sir. Excuse me," Riff finally said, shattering tension he hadn't meant to cause. The aristocrat nodded and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture that still seemed pale and shaky. Riff bowed, and left the room.

**A/N: Bromine (Br) is one of two elements which takes a liquid form at room temperature, the other being mercury (Hg). Not only is it highly toxic in gaseous form, but it is also highly caustic. Very dangerous chemical, and, as it does not react poorly with water, was perfect for what I needed. The sodium hydroxide story is curtesy of my own chemistry prof. (Sodium hydroxide is one of the strongest bases, think lye, and is extremely dangerous as well, mostly because it doesn't burn while it's eating through your flesh. So not noticing a small sample down the shoe until it's burnt through to the bone is actually plausible.) **

**On to the non-science stuff... I put way too much thought and detail into these things. Anyway, things are beginning to move forward a bit as far as the interactions and relationship between Cain and Riff is concerned. Pre-emptive warning-that's definitely what I'm focusing on these next few chapters. Riff hasn't forgotten about his Miss Mary, but he has been forced to think of other things. Never fear, though, she'll be back soon enough. In the mean time, these two need to work some things out.**

**Review Response: **

**Akami: I'm glad you're still enjoying the fic! Yes, Cain is flirtatious and loves to push Riff's boundaries of propriety, but none of us are remotely surprised. And I get the feeling that Riff is far too sensible with his money to know what to do with a great deal of it. Forty pounds a YEAR was more than enough to live on back then, at least as far as my understanding of it is concerned. And yes, Riff caved and gave Miss Mary a kiss. She was very pleased and flustered, and promised to write him, with an address where he could send messages-since he didn't know when his next day off would be, to go meet her. We shall see what happens on that front, though. For the moment, he has his new job and new master to contend with.**

**I've said it before and I'll say it again: Please leave your complaints and comments. Tell me what I'm doing wrong and tell me what I'm doing right, but please just tell me! Any mistakes are my own-this fic is unbetaed. I'm half way through already! Good Lord. **

**See you next week!**


	12. Chapter 12

It took nearly a week for Riff to find out the reason for Master Cain's panic. Well, a week and one particularly hedonistic party.

The carriage left the pair in front of the estate at nearly two o'clock in the morning, and Riff supported him (really, half carried him) to the door. The aristocrat was singing softly under his breath and clinging hard to Riff's shoulder. For his part, Riff was trying to keep him upright and quiet. It was definitely the most intoxicated Riff had yet seen him.

The singing cut out as Riff reached the bed chamber, keeping Master Cain upright with one hand and fumbling at the door handle with the other. Success. The valet deposited his lord into the desk chair, and poured out a tall glass of water.

"Drink up, sir," Riff advised. "I don't envy your headache in the morning."

Showing a shocking amount of coordination, the teen downed nearly two thirds of the water, but spluttered on the last of it. Riff passed him his night shirt and started to turn down the lamps.

"Riff."

He stopped. "Is there something else, sir?"

Master Cain was silent for a long moment, staring down at the nightshirt in his lap. Slim fingers curled into fists around the cloth. Riff remained silent, patiently waiting for him to continue. He'd learned quickly that pressing was never effective.

"I… drank too much, tonight," he said, using the careful and slow articulation relied upon only by the extremely inebriated. Riff privately agreed, but said nothing. "I'm not… entirely sure I can manage."

The valet couldn't help but smile, guessing where this was going. "Would you like me to help you undress, milord?"

Master Cain's shoulders curled forward slightly as he swallowed his pride. "…Yes."

Riff returned to the desk chair and pulled him to his feet again, helping him out of his top layers. The coat was hung in the closet, the waistcoat was draped over the back of the chair, soon joined by the suspenders and tie. Master Cain remained perfectly still, breathing slowly, shoulders tight. Wondering why he seemed so tense, Riff slid the shirt off and folded it over the arm rest as well.

_Oh, _he thought numbly upon turning back, _that's why. _

The light from the remaining lamp flickered over dozens of scars. Thin cuts crossed each other, papering the pale skin of Cain's back with paler still lines, layers of them, newer over the old. Deliberate. Ongoing.

Riff looked away from the mutilation, steadying his breathing. He'd been staring for too long, even if he'd only been staring for a few seconds. Master Cain was watching him in the mirror- eyes dark, clear, waiting.

He was not nearly as drunk as he'd been acting.

The valet continued, not sure what else he could do. Lifting the night shirt from the chair, he shook it once, then folded it around slim shoulders, guided his arms through the sleeves, and buttoned it down. Riff knelt, deft fingers plucking at shoelaces. He'd need to think about this, but not here and not now. "Step up, please." Riff nudged one foot lightly, and Master Cain obeyed, one hand seizing his jacket when he stumbled. _Not all of it is faked, then, _Riff observed, steadying him and fighting down a smile. The trousers, too, were unbuttoned and removed, Riff keeping a hand on the aristocrat's hip lest he fall.

He stood again, tugged the nightshirt decisively into place. "Bed, Master Cain," he advised quietly, guiding him to sit on the sheets, before continuing to dim the lamps, intending to leave for bed himself. It was nearly three.

Riff had almost finished when he heard a chocked sound from the bed. It sounded suspiciously like a sob.

The light went out.

Carefully, Riff made his way towards the bed, picking his way around the table and chairs in the half light from the open window. He'd have to close the curtains before he left. Cain hadn't gotten under the covers yet. His shoulders were shaking.

Riff fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it gently against the young man's cheek, then the other. "It'll be all right, milord." He folded it and tucked it into his hand.

There was no answer, but he hadn't really expected one. Riff retreated, drawing the curtains and darkening the room entirely.

"Sleep well."

Riff himself certainly would not. Not with so many questions running through his head. Scars, so many scars… The varied ages meant an extended amount of time, suggested repetition. The placement was deliberate, but… In the darkness of his own room, Riff curled his fingers around his right wrist. But they were on his back. Impossible to be self-inflicted, or at least unlikely. So… abuse? No wonder Master Cain had panicked with the bromine, had fought so hard against that particular violation. He swallowed guiltily.

But then, why request to be undressed tonight? He had planned it deliberately, that much was obvious. He had intended for Riff to see his scars, had stood in front of the mirror in order to watch his expression! It hadn't been pride he was swallowing back, Riff realized with respect, it had been fear. Terror, even. And he'd gone through with it anyway.

But what on earth had he done to earn such a show of trust?

And, Riff thought abruptly, feeling vaguely sick, what had happened to Cain to make his trust such a precious gift?

**A/N: New chapter as usual. Things are slowly moving forward with this chapter, as far as Cain actually trusting Riff is concerned. This was one of my favorite chapters to write, I think. This one and chapter fourteen, the one after next week's. Oh, you're all going to hate me for next week's... *grin* **

**Review Response: **

**Akami: I'm glad you changed your mind about Riff's characterization, but I'm going to elaborate anyway. I thought it was justified as he so often freaks out when Cain is hurt, and while he hasn't been with Cain for nearly as long in this scenario, seeing the results of corrosive chemicals probably made him slightly more concerned about it than he normally would have been. On top of that, his insistence shows the concern for Cain's wellbeing which he IS beginning to develop is perhaps stronger than the standard. As for your question about Riff's family, I remind you of the conversation he had with Miss Mary in chapter three, and cite that conversation as the reason I don't consider this to be a spoiler: yes. **

**Riff's parents and younger brother Clyde both died in a house fire when he was 23, when he was committed to the hospital, attempted suicide, and was eventually picked up by Alexis. The main difference, and the first deviation from the actual canon, is that Alexis chose not to hire Riff himself, and instead secured him a job working for Lord Cassandra Gladstone. There's one other main difference, and it's that I prefer not to work with an uncontrolled Tower, so those of you who have read "Kiss of Judas" on... Well. Other than those two main deviations, Riff's life runs virtually the same up until meeting Alexis Hargreaves. Not that we know many details about that life, anyway... **

**That's it for this week! Please review. Please. I'm seriously begging now. I got 23 hits on the last chapter, and 18 before, I know there's more than person actually reading this. **


	13. Chapter 13

Riff had gotten quite good at 'expecting the unexpected,' so to speak, but not even he could have anticipated the replacement for Miss Mary Weather's governess.

He'd certainly been aware that the spirited girl had successfully chased away her latest caretaker, and that another had been found after almost a week. He ought to have been introduced to her immediately, really, but the meeting had been lost somewhere in a sudden influx of bills and taxes and late nights and thought provoking, difficult to understand, and vexing in general masters.

As it happened, the meeting was practically pure chance. There had been a dispute between two of the footmen that Riff had ended up mediating, and he had just sent them away when his next problem appeared behind him.

"I don't mean to intrude, but my charge seems to have-"

Startled, Riff turned, and the governess stopped speaking. They stared at each other in complete silence for what felt like minutes before Riff finally found his voice.

"Lucinda?"

Her own wide eyes narrowed and her mouth pulled down into an expression of contempt. "Quite a fall, isn't it, to become a rich man's servant? _Mr_. Raffit, I suppose, since you never managed to earn the title of doctor." Her voice was hateful. Of course it was, when she still wore mourning clothes six years later.

He was not prepared to have this conversation. "Lucinda-"

His ex-fiance slapped him. Hard. "It's Miss Moran," she hissed, tossing her head to stare angrily up at him. "Don't you dare address me so familiarly, you long since lost that right."

Head reeling, Riff fell back on propriety and station and the reminder of a class difference where there hadn't been one before. It was a defense mechanism. He couldn't care. It would end this conversation. "Miss Moran," he agreed quietly, finally forcing himself to straighten and regard her impassively. "I believe you said you were looking for Miss Mary Weather. I've not seen her recently, but she favors the gardens for hiding places. Pardon me, madam."

Riff bowed, turned, and walked away. The rustle of skirts behind him suggested Lucinda had done the same.

She sought him out that night, after Miss Mary Weather had been sent to bed and he was trying to examine the daily expenses, not get lost in the glow of the wick and his own fire-consumed memories. Riff stood as she knocked and entered. "Miss Moran. Is there something I can do for you?" Propriety was a coward's shield, perhaps, but it was the only one available to him. He remained standing.

Lucinda sat, spreading her black skirts around her. She had always been a beautiful woman, Riff reflected, though he could not imagine being attracted to her. Not again, not with everything that had happened then. ...Not in comparison with-. "There may be, actually," she said, her measured and carefully even voice breaking through his thoughts. "You could resign."

Riff's heart sank. Well. Any hope of reconciliation was gone. "Still so bitter?" he asked quietly.

It had been the wrong thing to say.

Lucinda flew to her feet, hands trembling. "Why wouldn't I be? You took him from me! You killed him! I don't need evidence, I _know _you did it! You burned him, you burned my Clyde!" She was breathing hard, splotches of color appearing on her cheeks.

Riff closed his eyes, but otherwise did not move. Lucinda had been carrying this pain and anger for so long. It was all she had left, now. He would not defend himself, not when he knew she would see explanations and reminders only as excuses. Still… He would not surrender, either.

"My resignation would not bring my brother and parents back from the dead," Riff finally said into the silence, as evenly as he could. He met her eyes again. She looked so lost, suddenly. Angry, yes, but pitiable. "I have no intention of leaving this household." His mind drifted back to his master. No intention indeed. Nearly a fortnight of helping him dress and undress, and the young man still waited for the other shoe to drop, for Riff to betray him. Riff refused to do so, not even to ask the questions he needed answers to. Not seeing those scars, feeling him twitch, meeting eyes which held a little bit more trust every night.

For some reason, keeping Cain's confidence was unspeakably important, more so than his own curiosity or comfort or ease of mind. How odd. "I'm needed here."

"Needed?" Lucinda repeated. "_Needed? _You're nothing but a servant, Riffael. Don't delude yourself-" A sneer twisted her face, narrowed her eyes. "You're easily replaced."

Riff shook his head slowly, not sure what to say. For the first time in his life, he felt needed not for his capabilities, but for his personality, himself. He couldn't quite explain it, though, let alone to Lucinda. She'd only disagree. "I wouldn't be so sure," he finally said. "Please, Miss Moran, it is late. I must see to my master."

He crossed the room and held the door open for her. Lucinda, however, did not move. "…You care about him a great deal," she said slowly, eyes on his. "More than anyone else."

Riff frowned faintly, wondering what she meant, but she was sweeping past him now.

"…You took my Clyde, you know," she said, and this time there was no anger, her tone was conversational. "Perhaps you should lose the person most important to you, too."

"Lucinda-" Riff started, a premonitory chill running down his spine, but she had already disappeared into the darkened hallway.

**A/N: Okay, please don't hate me, I promise this will be resolved next week. I almost combined this chapter and the next, but then it weakens a perfectly good ending line. But I did have my reasons for including Lucinda! I did! I swear I did! Narratively, I needed a way to clearly demonstrate the differences between what happened to Riff in canon and what happened to Riff here. As far as character development is concerned, well, this is the first serious threat Riff has encountered while working for Cain. Not that he really thinks it's serious. Right now. **

**I want to send a quick shout out and thank you to Aristotelian for the extremely flattering review. (This is not a complaint, I'm quite pleased.) **

**As for my anonymous review from Moon: I'm glad to know that you've started looking forward to Mondays, now! I don't know if Cain regrets telling Riff about his scars now or not. I don't think he does, I think he's more confused by Riff's reaction, because Riff seems to have developed an extremely unsettling habit of not reacting in the way Cain expected him to. As for why Cain showed Riff but not Mary... (Forgive my character ranting, please?)  
><strong>

**I don't think Cain views Mary as an equal, or a potential equal, even in canon. He loves her, he dotes upon her, but he also desperately, desperately wants to keep her safe, protect her. (Crooked House. Scold's Bridle. Every single time he's hidden his activities from her.) Cain thinks of himself as poisoned. Consider the end of The Stake, the chapter with Lucinda, when he wonders if he's poisoning _Riff _by allowing him to stay, to even touch him. He views Mary as a precious object, even, and she well knows this-and is justifiably infuriated by this, given she grew up on the streets. (Again, I point towards Crooked House, specifically the last few pages.) Of course he doesn't tell Mary about his scars, because even if she's tougher than she seems, Cain doesn't want to see that. Cain wants her to stay safe, to stay innocent, to not be caught up in the horrible underworld of London, to, most importantly, _avoid the Hargreaves curse_.**  
><strong>As for why he told Riff here? I can't say too much, but consider this. As both an amateur scientist and an amateur detective, when presented with something he doesn't understand, Cain has a certain way of approaching a problem, namely by experimenting and testing. Riff is one such problem. He has stated he wants to take care of Cain, has ignored direct orders to do so, has made allowances for his eccentricities, has displayed no fear of him, has expressed no disgust for him. Besides that, Riff is safe. He very obviously does not need anything like protecting (unlike Mary Weather). Cain's been testing him the whole time, ever since Riff brought him hot water and tea leaves instead of deciding it was too much trouble. He's started to see Riff as someone he might be able to trust, as a potential equal, on a level that Mary can never be. That's why I think it's plausible that Cain would let Riff know on purpose, when he'd never let Mary know. <strong>

**...That got _so _much more long-winded than I meant for it to be. I spend far too much time on examining these characters... But, yes. I do tend to think out exactly why a character makes the choices he or she does. Which leads to... rambling character exposition in author's notes prompted by a perfectly innocent comment. I'm so sorry. **

**Please review and let me know what you've thought! Specific question: Does anyone actually read the rambling review responses in the author's note? Just, I feel like I accidentally double the chapter length, because I get distracted and overly enthusiastic and it turns into some strange journal entry... **

**Okay, again. Good or bad, I want to know what people are enjoying about these chapters! See you next week. **


	14. Chapter 14

Riff tried very hard over the next few days to convince himself Lucinda was simply overreacting. She lacked the focus to commit homicide, even if she possessed the passion. It wasn't in Lucinda to kill someone, or so he kept telling himself.

Telling himself and convincing himself were two entirely different things, unfortunately.

The two remained frostily polite whenever they encountered each other, which was, Thank God, rarely necessary. Master Cain seemed not to notice the strained manners between the two, not that Riff expected him to do so. The relationships between the servants did not hold much importance, as long . Riff had stumbled upon the end of a very disconcerting conversation, however, near the end of Lucinda's first week of employment.

"...still in mourning for him, even though it's been so long…"

"Surely you've had interest, before…?"

"Earl Hargreaves, please...!"

Riff turned to the corner to see Master Cain leaning casually against the wall, far too close for propriety's sake. Lucinda saw him first, and she frowned. "Besides, it's hard to move on when your love is ripped from you with no warning. Excuse me, Earl." She extracted herself and stalked down the hallway, heels clicking as she went.

The nobleman seemed unconcerned, instead giving Riff a large smile which simply screamed 'Why on earth are you looking at me like that? I didn't do anything.' "Yes, Riff?"

"There's a visitor to see you, Master Cain. A Lady Harrietta?"

He at least had the decency to look slightly contrite, but it was only for a moment. "Ah, yes, thank you. I'll, ah… just go meet her, then?"

"That would be advised, sir," Riff agreed dryly. "I'll send some tea for the pair of you."

He needn't have bothered. Master Cain had succeeded in discouraging her interest within ten minutes of actually speaking with her, claiming she was vapid and dull and not worth the effort of stringing along. "Lady-killer earl" indeed…

Less than an hour later, Riff entered the master bedroom to fetch his lord's cane-apparently it was required for some sort of experiment-only to find one of the maids straightening a bouquet of fresh flowers. It took him a moment to remember her name. "Natalie?"

"Ouch!" She jumped, and placed her finger in her mouth. "Thorn," she elaborated, upon seeing his raised eyebrow. She folded her hands in the apron. "I am sorry, Mr. Raffit, I hadn't known you'd come in. These just arrived, addressed to the master, and I thought I'd put them in his room and all, with the note, so he'd see them when he came in."

Riff nodded hesitantly. It was odd to fixate on, but something about the arrangement distracted him, seemed...

"Victorian posies." Seemed familiar. Lucinda, of course. "They're quite beautiful, and very expensive- -" The girl cut off suddenly.

"Natalie?"

She had brought both hands to her throat, trying to cough, before her knees folded and she fell to the ground. Riff ran for the door, shouting into the hallway, "Send for a doctor! Someone, quickly!"

The shout got the attention he needed, and he doubled back to the maid, rolling her carefully onto her back. Her face was turning blue, her eyes had rolled up into the back of her head.

There were several people crowding at the door now, staring in at him and the dying girl. Whispers had broken out towards the front, shouts of curiosity from behind.

"Has a doctor been sent for?" Riff demanded impatiently. "You two, help me get her out of here. Will you all move back, she needs to be moved out of the middle of the floor, now, before-!"

Her limbs started to convulse. Seizure, Riff noted distractedly, which made this more and more likely a neurotoxin. …Toxin. _Obvious_. "Someone send for Master Cain, too! And for God's sake, call a doctor!"

The valet kept her head and shoulders firmly cradled in his lap, knowing that any attempts to restrain the movement of her arms and legs in the middle of the convulsions would likely lead to broken bones. "Someone move the table out of the way, clear the area around her."

Cain arrived first, the gaggle of servants parting around him. "Riff, what-?" he stopped, as it became quite obvious 'what.' The twitching slowed, then ceased.

"Please tell me you know what it is?" Riff asked, near desperately.

"Symptoms, Riff. What were the first symptoms?" He fully entered the room, kneeling down to check a pulse.

"Shortness of breath, rapid escalation to suffocation, a collapse likely caused by weakened muscles, and has experienced only the one seizure, grand mal," he recited quickly, the terminology coming back with an ease which surprised him. It was probably Master Cain's detached tone, a tool valued by any emergency doctor, which was grounding him. Of course he would remember his training, when his lord sounded like his old professor.

The nobleman nodded. "Understood. Can you carry her?"

"Not if she begins to seize again."

"Very well. We'll move her to the guest bedroom down the hall. I assume a doctor has been sent for?" Riff nodded. "He won't be much help without the antidote, which I'll administer, likely before he arrives."

"Yes, sir." Riff lifted her, the two footmen he'd pointed out earlier helping, and carried her down the hallway.

Master Cain returned within less than two minutes, looking unflappable and measuring a small amount of fluid into a syringe, before finally injecting the antidote into a vein. She relaxed almost immediately, beginning to breathe again.

The nobleman took a deep breath, too, before beckoning Riff out after him. "You keep your head in a crisis," he observed quietly after a few minutes. "Impressive, too, that you knew how to handle something like that."

Riff shook his head reluctantly. "I was on the verge of graduating medical school, sir, though I've had little cause to use the knowledge in over five years. I'm more relieved I remembered anything useful."

Master Cain stopped, studying him for a long moment. "…I never knew that… You would have made a good doctor, I think, Riff. A very good doctor indeed…" They had returned to his bedroom now, and Cain waved him inside before him. "The question of the moment, however, is how the toxin entered her system," he continued. "Extremely rapid-onset symptoms… And who would have the motive to poison a _maid_?"

There was a worrisome glint in the teen's eyes that Riff recognized. Unless he was much mistaken, Master Cain had been equally eager while kneeling outside Gladstone's study and picking the lock.

And while he wasn't entirely sure about how it was accomplished, yet, Riff knew exactly who had attempted the murder, and who the intended target was.

"Master Cain… I have reason to think that the maid was not the target. I… I believe you were, and I believe I know who tried," Riff admitted quietly.

He reached for the bouquet again, touching only the vase as he set it beside the earl. Victorian posies. Victorian posies were the only thing Lucinda had left at the church, when she had eloped with Clyde. He lifted the note, too, reading it silently. _To the Earl Hargreaves: Know you are someone's world, though it may remain unsaid. _It was Lucinda's handwriting. Riff passed this to Cain as well as he explained, "I'm not entirely sure how it was accomplished, but I believe the toxin was hidden in this bouquet. It was sent to you, with this note. Natalie explained before… She had collected it and decided to display it here. When I came in, she pricked her finger."

The nobleman took the note from him carefully, flicking it open one handed as he lounged across the bed to read it. "You said you know who was trying to kill me?" Riff stared. Cain's life was targeted, yet he spoke of it so casually… The brunet glanced up and gave a sardonic smile when he saw his expression. "Riff, I am more used to people trying to kill me than people trying to care for me. What I want to know, is how you know who is behind this attempt?"

Riff swallowed. "…I believe that Miss Lucinda Moran is trying to kill you," he admitted quietly, looking down.

"The governess?" Master Cain sounded genuinely shocked. "_Why?" _

"Because… Sir, the story is convoluted at…" Riff sighed, seeing little leeway in the cat-eyes demanding answers of him. "If you remember, she is dressed in mourning clothes, in respect for her dead… her dead husband."

"Yes," Cain agreed impatiently. "What has that got to do with me?"

"Not very much, but it has a great deal to do with me, sir. She's… Lucinda is my former fiancee." Riff met Cain's eyes seriously. This was a story he rarely shared, but... Cain had asked it of him, when no one else ever had. No one else had wanted to know, no one but Miss Mary... And even then, speaking to Miss Mary of Lucinda, particularly so early... Well, Riff was many things, but he wasn't an idiot. "She was the daughter of a doctor, a leader in the medical field and a mentor of mine. We were engaged to be married, and yes, I did care for her to some extent, but I was so busy with studies and work, that I did not give her the time and attention she wanted and deserved. Instead, she found it with my brother, who gave her the confidence she lacked, and reasons to hate me. The two eloped on the day we were to be married, disgracing the family and infuriating my parents. It worsened when Clyde returned a year later, seeking money."

Riff took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "They fought, and while my parents refused to give him the money he wanted, they did permit him to stay the night. That night… That night, the house burnt to the ground. Lucinda believes I set that fire, that I deliberately took her love and happiness away. I spoke with her, briefly, soon after she was hired. After that conversation, she decided she has the right to take what happiness I have found here, in retribution. She threatened to kill you, sir."

"When?" Master Cain asked finally, voice too soft for the emotion to be entirely readable.

"…Just over a week ago."

He frowned deeply. "Why have you not said anything before now?" His voice rose this time, enough that Riff could recognize he was hurt.

"Because I did not believe her to be capable of cold blooded murder," Riff explained quietly, "and I do not believe I have the right to take what security she has. But this is too much of a coincidence, to have an attempt on your life so soon afterwards, milord… As for legitimate evidence I recognize both the handwriting and the style of the bouquet. She would have carried the same down the aisle."

The teen nodded slowly. "When did you think Miss Moran might have made an attempt?"

"The moment Natalie collapsed. Sir, please… If any sign suggested she was serious, I intended to warn you, to tell you what happened and explain why. If her threats were simply idle, I did not believe them important."

"…You are far too kind, Riff," Master Cain finally said, still looking drained, the skin around his eyes pinched. "You would grant clemency even to your enemies. I am not so merciful." He looked up again, a glint in his eye. "She tried to poison me, and quite ineptly, too, I might add. I've just the solution. I've been meaning to test-"

"Master Cain!"

"What?" The aristocrat blinked, taken aback. "She deserves it." He looked almost insulted that Riff would question the decision. "Besides, I'm much more elegant than that hussy. Miss Moran won't know she's poisoned until she's beyond help, if then."

"Master Cain, you cannot simply poison someone-"

"Well, why not?"

Riff faltered when faced with the completely unrepentant disregard for human life. "You are aware that it's murder? There are laws against that sort of thing!"

"Yes, and it didn't stop _her_."

"Please, milord… Surely Scotland Yard can manage this one? We have evidence against her. Once the flowers have proven to be tainted, and handwriting analysis confirms she wrote the note, there's little in the way of defense. She'll be imprisoned, or perhaps committed to an asylum somewhere." She was certainly unstable enough to merit institutionalization.

The aristocrat narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased at what he considered a lack of justice. "Are you really content with just that?"

"Yes. Milord."

"All right, all right, fine!" he complained, sounding like a child deprived of a toy. Riff tried not to smile, knowing it would be misinterpreted. "She can be committed to an asylum for the rest of her days. You really are far too kind, Riff. It will be the death of you." Master Cain stood, stretching luxuriously. "Keep me posted on Natalie's condition, what the doctor says. And Riff?"

"Yes, sir?"

Cain paused, one hand on the doorframe. "Thank you. For… For telling me what happened, with your family, and all…"

"…You're welcome, Master Cain."

**A/N: Definitely one of the longer chapters in this... The poisoning scene got away from me. Apologies for likely inaccurate knowledge of toxins, though I doubt anyone with perfect knowledge is reading this. At least I got to correct Riff's treatment of seizures! That always irked me, in the manga... **

**Few comments on this one, aside from the obvious. Cain and Riff are getting closer (Yay!), there was more Cain in this chapter (YAY!) and Lucinda will be dealt with appropriately. **

**Review Response: **

**Akami! Not much to say here aside from a thank you. I'm glad you liked the twelfth chapter so much (it was one of my favorites to write) and that chapter 13 was such a shock to you. I can promise you it won't be the last time you're taken aback by what happens in this story. Keep reading! **


	15. Chapter 15

By the next day, when Lucinda was _finally_ incarcerated, servant and master both were quite tired of the whole affair. She had deflected and played innocent… At least until Master Cain had called her incompetent, and then placed the discolored ribbon, once wrapped neatly around the bouquet, on the table as proof. He cited the excess of toxin on the needle he had found concealed within it, then the personally hand written note. "Really, I'm almost shocked you had the sense to leave it 'anonymous!"

Riff remained expressionless, but privately thought Master Cain sounded more indignant than anything else. That should be worrying, as it implied he was used to the people trying to kill him having a level of finesse and capability, of having to fight harder for his life, but he couldn't quite shake the need to hide a small smile in his shoulder.

Lucinda, though, was not so darkly amused, and had flown into a rage, shouting loudly enough for several servants to hear that if poison didn't work, she'd try something else, and keep trying until the earl was dead. Whether or not Master Cain's disdain was faked, it had the desired effect: plenty of non-biased eye witness information to give to the police chief. Eventually, the Yard was convinced, Lucinda was led sullenly away, and Riff was feeling rather indignant himself, as Master Cain had abandoned him to explain the situation to his sister. Somehow, the reason her governess was being arrested had never been explained to her, and she was furious with her brother's over protective tendency to leave her in the dark. Again.

By the time Riff fetched his master for bed, he was mentally exhausted. In contrast, the teenager seemed wound with nervous energy, completely wide awake, though he did-thank _God-_ consent to retire.

"I do hope, Riff, you've not got any other past loves I might accidentally hire?" Master Cain asked, voice casual and eyes amused.

Riff was torn between irritation at the jibe and pleasure that Master Cain seemed to be in such a good mood. "No, sir," he finally settled on, bending to untie and remove his shoe. "No-no past loves."

Though there, the hesitation was barely a hitch in the sentence. Master Cain caught it anyway, raising one elegant eyebrow. "No past, perhaps, but what of the present? Do you have a lady friend hidden away somewhere?"

Preoccupied with his thoughts about his Miss Mary, Riff didn't hear the way his words had become clipped around the edges. He'd last seen her before being hired by the Hargreaves household, and that had been over two months ago. She had promised to send word, and an address at which he might contact her with the date of his next day off. No word had come, but because of the increase in Riff's responsibilities, he'd had very little in the way of free time anyway.

As much as Riff loved Mary… he was doubting whether she had given him any thought at all since Hyde Park. He almost wouldn't be surprised… After all, his class didn't associate with-

"Riff?"

The valet jumped, and blinked. He'd gotten lost in thought, to the point of having stopped with only one shoe. Apologizing, he moved on quickly, ignoring the tightness in his throat.

"You're not one to lose focus like that," the aristocrat commented, voice soft. "Are you… are you getting ill?"

Riff laughed quietly, and shook his head. "No, I'm in fine health, I assure you, milord." Only heartsick, he thought to himself wryly. He stood, removed the jacket and waistcoat. "But, I don't believe any… ah, romantic relations… I don't believe that's a topic I should be discussing."

The teen frowned up at him. "I'm not a child, Riff. I want to know!" Silence. His frown deepened. "At least a name," he demanded this time. Riff shook his head, unknotting the tie and folding it. Master Cain's eyes narrowed, and he bit his lip, before saying quickly, "Is it this Mary you mentioned to my sister?"

Oh, he knew he shouldn't have said so much to her. The blond sighed, turning back and beginning to unbutton his shirt, fingers quick and gentle. "Yes, Master Cain. Her name is Miss Mary, and… and yes, I care for her a great deal. But I haven't had word from her in two months."

"Oh."

Riff avoided his eyes, knowing his hands were shaking lightly and ashamed of it. The shirt came off, and the remainder of their routine was performed to the soft whispers of the gas lamps, of rustling fabric, clothing, sheets, duvet.

"Riff!" He looked back, hand on the door handle. Without waiting for a response, Master Cain continued, the words tripping on their way out. "Why have you never asked?"

It wasn't particularly difficult to guess at what he had meant, not when the room was dark, having filled with secrets while his back was turned. Cain was curled tightly under the covers, watching him. It felt like silence, a deceptive peace, all shadows and starshine.

"Because I knew you didn't wish to speak of it, Master Cain," he answered, focusing on breathing.

"So… So why not ask any of the staff?" Cain demanded in return. He sounded very young.

Carefully, Riff picked his way around moonbeams to kneel beside Cain's bed. "It… I saw it as... well, as far too close to betrayal," Riff finally said. "When I came into your service, sir, you ordered I would not dress or undress you. It's not difficult to recognize your trust for what it is, milord, however rarely it's given."

"Riff…" Cain's voice sounded muffled, as though his face was half buried in the pillow. "I… I need you to ask, though. I can't… I can't explain on my own. I don't know how."

The valet smiled to himself, feeling inappropriately proud of him. It took a lot of humility to admit ignorance, and for Cain, who valued so much how people saw him… "You want me to know, though?"

When the answer finally came, his voice shook and was very small. "Yes. I want you to know."

Riff swallowed, taking the time he needed to choose his words carefully. "Who hurt you?"

For a moment, he thought he had chosen incorrectly. There was no sound at all, not even breathing. Finally, finally he heard a long, shuddering sigh, then, inexplicably, laughter.

"You…" An unsteady giggle interrupted Cain. "You insist on doing what I least expect. I thought for sure… but no, you just… Not even how it happened, or why I deserved… Why must you be so difficult?" There was another hitch, this one sounding as if it had been caused by tears.

"Master Cain," he repeated, feeling sickeningly helpless, "Who _hurt_ you?"

When Cain spoke again, he had regained his impeccable control. His voice was steady, nearly emotionless. "…My father. Alexis Hargreaves, Earl of Cornwall."

"Your fath-" Riff started, moving abruptly as if to stand. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he did, preferably _something, _but he stopped, freezing, as he felt fingers brush the back of his neck. A wordless plea to stay. To listen. He sat again.

Cain sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. "What do you know," he breathed, tone still distant, detached, and wrong, so wrong, how could anyone hurt so much, "What do you know about the Hargreaves family?"

And the sordid story tumbled forth, words hushed. It might have been the way the silver light glinted off golden eyes, or maybe the almost reverent silence from the rest of the house (did anyone exist outside this room and this story?), but Riff felt as though every moment, every confession was precious. Sacred. It wasn't just his family's sins Cain recounted, not only his father's incestuous tryst with his mother-aunt, not only the forced isolation, not only the nightly whippings and verbal abuse…

Cain was telling him all the shattered hopes and dreams of the child he had been and, in some ways, still was. How scared, and lonely, and sad he was, how much he hated his father, how much he loved him, how disappointed he was when he learned Alexis was slowly killing him…

"But he didn't. I killed him first… I switched them, put rose powder where the arsenic should have been, and took the arsenic and put it into his pipe… And he died, he had to have died, he was coughing up blood and he jumped out the window… But I… I couldn't… I was more afraid of dying than I was of him, so I… I killed my own father, Riff. He was right, in the end, I'm just a murderer, and…"

For the first time, Riff interrupted him. "Cain," he said quietly. "No, you're not." At some point during the story, Riff had moved to sit beside him on the bed, and now reached out to pull him carefully close, knowing he needed some sort of contact. The calm finally broke, leaving the teen clutching at his shirt, his face buried in his jacket. "You're not just a murderer, Cain. It'll be… It'll be all right. How… How old were you?"

"…Fourteen. Almost fifteen."

He swallowed hard. "If he wasn't dead," he said slowly, making sure Cain could hear him, understand this, "I would want to kill him myself."

Cain laughed, which wasn't quite what Riff intended as he'd been perfectly serious, but was a relief nonetheless.

"Yes, well," the aristocrat said, already pulling away, putting his pieces back into place. "…Now… Now you know. All the Hargreaves history, the… sordid little details."

Riff nodded, and let him go. "Master Cain, I…" The valet sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to find words for the admiration he felt for the young man before him. "…You are far stronger than I," he finally managed. "Sir… I shouldn't compare my life to yours, but… After I lost my family, I… there were many times, while I was in the hospital, that I tried to commit suicide. That you have endured so much pain, and yet…" He shook his head, unable to find the words. "It's incredibly admirable."

Master Cain laughed again, this time softly. "Admirable? I don't believe I've heard that one, before. Besides, Riff, the situations were entirely different."

"Yes, I hadn't meant to-"

"I think yours was much worse."

Riff stopped and stared at him. "…Pardon?"

"Well, consider it. I never knew proper love, not without it being mixed with fear, and you lost your entire family, your entire source of that love and affection. Having known that, and lost it… isn't that more painful than having never known it at all?"

"…All I know, Master Cain," Riff said quietly, "Is that I wish you had never experienced that."

They sat in silence for some further time, before Riff broke the silence again. He didn't want to leave quite yet, suspected Cain didn't want him to, either. "…You know, Alexis Hargreaves was the one who made sure I got a job somewhere. Gladstone was a friend of his, I believe."

Cain smiled faintly, looking pale. "Yes. I know."

Riff blinked. He'd said it mostly for something to say. "…How?"

"You almost were hired here, but… mm. You weren't quite adept at following orders. You spoke to me." He hesitated, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, towards the window, before finally settling back on his servant, before he added, "You saw me."

_You can see me? _It was a memory all-but buried, of a childlike wraith staring at him, pale skin, dark hair… He had been wearing a nightshirt, in the middle of the day, had looked ill, with dark circles imprinted under his cat's eyes, bare feet, standing in the middle of the hallway. Invisible, to everyone else. Except him… Because he hadn't heard the order to ignore the master's son, on pain of dismissal. Riff swallowed_. _"…I thought you were a ghost," he admitted quietly. "I thought…"

He shrugged. "Yes, well… I'm not exactly surprised. Father took away anything I developed a remote emotional attachment to." There was a possessive smile, filled with the sharp edges of far too many broken promises. "But I got you back, didn't I? I don't think I can ever let you go. Not now. Riff. I… I didn't have anything to die for, before. But now, I think… Well." The smile softened, and Cain looked away, staring out the window at the full moon. "Riff, if you were ever to betray me, I believe I would die."

And for that, there was no reply.

**A/N: Oh, definitely one of my favorite chapters to write, even if Riff went all bewilderingly poetic in the middle of it. Of course, emotions were taking a bit of a beating, on both sides, so that accounts for some of it... But at the same time.**

**On a side note, the business with Lucinda is completely cleared away and she won't be showing up in this fic again, and Cain finally actually TALKED to Riff. About things. Like pasts. And emotions!**

**No review responses, this time, so I'll keep this shorter and end with something of a warning. I've recently become re-enamored with the TV series Doctor Who. Three days of a Who marathon, watching series five and series six, will do that to a girl. Anything which gets written later and finds its way onto this site... I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. Believe me, there is at least one strange fusion. I have no intention of posting it, as there's very little in the way of plot. But it's fun.**

**See you all next week! **


	16. Chapter 16

It would be some time before Riff was able to consciously comprehend the humbling, if overwhelming, amount of trust Master Cain placed in him. For his part, Master Cain seemed more himself than ever. Suave and debonair in public, the persona was practically abandoned now with Riff. He was still intelligent and arrogant and caustic and sarcastic, but… Cain was more willing to show vulnerability. He was more relaxed, freer with his emotions. Knowing the aristocrat did not want pity, Riff tried to treat him as he always had. It was a fine line, support but not pity, care but not coddle, but he did the best he could. Master Cain seemed to appreciate it, at least, and while there were nights of regression, when he was sent away and the nobleman readied himself for bed, and pulled away and snapped and fought and was prickly in fear, well, such was only to be expected. Riff never took it to heart.

Two more weeks passed, and Riff received a note from Mary.

He'd given up on hearing from her, or had tried, at least. He still checked, and was still disappointed, regardless of what he told himself during the day. Riff made himself wait to open the letter until he knew he would not be interrupted. Which, as the only time he could guarantee himself half an hour's pause was after the household had retired, only meant he was fidgety and distracted all day.

Master Cain finally asked at tea time. "Riff? Is everything… well?" He sounded amused.

"What?" Riff blinked. "Ah, pardon, milord?"

"You've actually started to make my tea," he drawled, the corners of his eyes lifting, even as his mouth tried to remain stern. Miss Mary Weather stifled giggles in her sleeve.

Riff looked down and finally caught up with what his hands were doing. "…My apologies, sir, I'll go fetch-"

"No," Master Cain interrupted. "Don't be ridiculous. I refuse to let you leave until I know what's distracting you." He took the tea with a smile. "Besides, you wouldn't poison me."

Blinking, Riff watched as the aristocrat took a long sip. Tea and trust… though that wouldn't stop him from pestering his valet with questions about the source of his carelessness. The taste, though, distracted the lord from whatever interrogation he had planned. Master Cain raised both eyebrows, looking back to him. "This is delicious."

"Thank you, sir." Riff decided that, really, it summarized all of the gratitude he was feeling most adequately, even if it had nothing to do with the tea.

"I'm quite serious. Mine is always far too watery, I'm too impatient."

"Why drink it if it doesn't taste right?" his sister demanded, reaching for another small sandwich and dismantling it to eat piece by piece. Children would have their quirks, Riff supposed.

Master Cain ignored the breach of table manners. "I'm British." The siblings grinned at each other. Riff picked up the tray to return to the kitchens. "Where do you think you're going?" Master Cain had turned around to scowl at him over the back of his chair. "Don't you dare leave, Riff, I was equally serious about knowing why you're so distracted."

"He got a letter," Miss Mary Weather announced, quite before Riff had any chance to protest.

"Miss Mary Weather!"

Her brother seemed more intrigued than scandalized. "A letter, Riff? From whom?" There was a moment's silence as Riff tried to think of a plausible answer which was no a lie, but preferably not quite the truth, either.

"Er…"

"Your ears are turning red," Master Cain observed, shrewd as ever and beginning to smirk. "Never mind, I think I know…" He settled back into his chair, taking another sip of the tea. Riff had thought his master feline in the past, but never so strongly had he given off the air of a smug and victorious cat. "Good news, I hope?"

"I, ah… I wouldn't know, sir. I've not opened it yet." This, at least, was the truth, and would hopefully prevent the nobleman from continuing to question him.

Master Cain simply continued to smile. "Well, let me know, will you? Especially if you might require time off."

Miss Mary Weather was looking between the two with a frown. "Let you know what, brother? Who's writing? Why would Riff need time off?"

"It's not polite to pry, Mary," Master Cain reprimanded her. "Leave the man his privacy."

Hypocrite, Riff thought wryly. Miss Mary Weather agreed. "You're prying!" she pointed out indignantly, shredding the bread she was holding.

"That's different."

"It is not! You're not being fair!"

The brunet looked thoughtful. "You know… you're right. It's not. I know!" Miss Mary Weather perked up, hoping to be let in on the joke. "We'll just talk about something else."

"CAIN!"

"How is your piano coming along?"

If Cain Hargreaves was a cat, so was Mary Weather, and it looked as if she was about to start hissing. Riff decided now would be an excellent time to (successfully) take the tray to the kitchens, and retreated. Siblings. He and Clyde had had similarly pointless arguments when they were younger.

* * *

><p>Miss Mary's letter waited until late.<p>

_My dearest Riff, _

_I fear I've had very little time to myself the past few weeks. Soon after my return home from the park, I was informed I would be spending time in the North with some cousins of mine. I've not been let alone since, and it's only now I've returned to London that I've gotten the chance to write to you. Forgive me, my love? _

_I have not been an unfaithful lover, nor idle. My thoughts these past two months have been filled with none but you. I've arranged this address, where you can write back without fear. Send news, notes, a date to meet, anything, soon. I've missed you. _

_Fondly yours, _

_Mary_

Riff's hands were shaking with relief by the time he had finished the letter. He placed it carefully on his desk, raked a hand through his hair, and tried not to laugh with nerves.

She hadn't changed her mind. "_My love,"_ even… She'd…

He took a deep breath, thinking. When would Master Cain need him least? A society party of some sort, but if Miss Mary attended them as well… Certainly no guarantee she would be able to meet with him. Perhaps during an afternoon? Likely a Sunday, Sundays always had the fewest visitors and the least for him to do. Today was Wednesday. Was this Sunday too soon? Likely. So next Sunday…

What would he do for the date? Where would he take her? Where could he afford to take her? Riff's heart sank. He couldn't take her some place very public, an opera, or a play, even if he was capable of buying tickets. Something like dinner he might manage, but the concern, again, was the public nature of a restaurant.

Well… Yes. That would be perfect.

* * *

><p>The benefit of being so abnormally tall, Riff mused as he waited outside the tea shop, was the handy ability to see over most crowds. The street wasn't horribly busy, it hardly ever was, but he still saw Mary before she saw him. Riff swallowed, and folded his hands behind him. She was just…<p>

"Riff!" Miss Mary brightened and hurried toward him, tripping to a stop and almost colliding with him. Again.

Thinking of the first time he'd met her (was it really only a few months ago?) Riff could do nothing but smile for a long moment.

"Miss Mary." He wanted to kiss her again, but it was too public, too soon. He kissed the back of one gloved hand instead, before opening the door for her and leading her to a small table in a semi-private corner. The shop was open and bright, with only a few table and chairs scattered across the floor, and smelled wonderfully of spices and fruits and teas. Six years had hardly changed the place.

Riff drew her chair out for her, earning a small laugh, before sitting across from her. She reached for his hand almost immediately. He let her take it, folding their fingers together.

"I missed you," she said quietly, looking at their hands. "I missed this…" She sighed, closed her yes.

"…I was afraid you'd changed your mind," Riff admitted quietly, eyes fixed on her face. "Because I'm not…"

She opened her eyes to glare at him, bristling. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Riff Raffit. I don't care about your status or your class. God knows I deal with that enough. What I want is-" She paused, softened, shoulders relaxing. "The only thing I want of you is… your attention. Focus, devotion… Your love, if I might say it." She flushed, color highlighting her pale complexion.

Riff couldn't help but smile at her. "You have it," he breathed, squeezing her hand lightly. "If I might say it," he added, teasing her gently. Her flush deepened.

Reluctantly, he looked away, reaching for the menu with one hand. "Their black teas are fantastic, as is their jasmine," he offered as a change in subject. "The biggest pull are the Eastern teas. I came here fairly often while I was in school, but that was years ago. They've expanded the menu since I was last here."

Miss Mary followed suit, examining the list curiously. "Have you had green tea before? It doesn't sound very appetizing… _Green _tea."

Riff had never had an easier time talking to someone. They traded stories of the past few months, Riff sharing anecdotes about Miss Mary Weather and her refusal to behave. Guessing it would amuse her, Riff related her question about why he called her Miss Mary Weather, as well as his answer, that he already had a Miss Mary.

"You are far too sweet," she decided, laughing. "Your Miss Mary, am I?" She smiled at him, pleased. "So is working at the Hargreaves manor as difficult as you expected it to be?"

Riff thought of the chemical lab, then of the starlings, then of Cain. "It's… I believe it's the most rewarding job I've ever had."

Mary looked startled. "Really? What, is the pay that good?"

"To be honest, I'm… that's not it at all. It's only that, well, Master Cain needs me." he admitted quietly, remembering absently the last time he'd spoken that thought aloud. He wasn't tactless, though. No need to mention the incident, or to whom he had been speaking.

Mary, though, was smiling. "Of course he does," she said quietly. "You really don't think it, but Riff… you are an amazing person. I'm not surprised he finds you so important. It's about time you were noticed."

Riff remained silent. "I'm only a servant, Miss Mary," he said finally. "I don't know why Master Cain has decided to trust me, or why you seem to think as you do, but… Thank you."

"You are shockingly humble and overwhelmingly kind," she said softly, seriously, before breaking out into a grin as he felt his face heat, and adding "And wonderfully fun to scandalize. I really shouldn't."

"You'll be the death of me, Miss Mary," Riff said, smiling in abashed response to her wicked glee.

The light dropped out of her expression. "Don't say that, Riff. Please… Please, don't say that."

Startled, Riff squeezed her hand, touching her cheek, her hair, not sure what he had done but wanting to reassure her. "I won't, Mary," he whispered. "What is it, please? What did I say?"

Mary only shook her head, staring up at him silently, solemnly. Her hand tightened on his, and she leaned up to kiss him gently.

When she pulled away, the soft, late afternoon sunlight had stained her eyes gold.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So this one was originally two chapters (cut right before the date with Mary) but I figured that, now I've discovered line breaks, I ought to use them. Besides, it really was just one particularly long chapter in the first place... And oh, the next chapter... *grins* The next chapter is one of my favorites. Seriously. I cannot wait. **

**_General question to any and all readers: _  
><strong>

**I've written a great deal of Alternate Universe fic for Godchild. Practically all of it is Cain and Riff (and Cain/Riff) centric, and runs from fix it fic to science fiction future fic, with some mild crossovers scattered throughout. Most of them are disjointed scenes, lacking an overarching plot but capable of standing alone. I'm considering publishing a single story with multiple one shots, of various tones, linked by the fact they're all AU. Some of the universes have multiple scenes and incidents, some don't. Here's my question, though. Would any of you be interested in actually reading something like that? At this point, I've only had feedback from one or two people, good friends and fellow Godchild fans. But as is, the stories are only piling up on my hard drive, and not doing much. **

**So, if anyone would be interested or thinks this is a horrible idea, drop me a PM or review here. I just want to feel out the community's thoughts before attempting that. **

**Anonymous Review Responses!**

**Akami: It depends on which part of Riff's past you mean... In Count Cain ("Mark of the Red Ram"), he elaborates and gives more details to Uncle Neil's story, but it's Neil who mentions and brings up the attempted suicide. During the Godchild chapter "The Stake," Riff again explains the story and gives further details about his brother's involvement. So Riff does tell Cain about his past in canon, but it's also not necessarily voluntary. I'm glad you liked the changes I made with this! I hope this chapter answered some of your questions about Cain's reaction to Miss Mary, but I hope it added more to them, too. **

**That's it for this week! Please review. (And if you get the chance, I've posted a short one shot as well entitled "Love Bites." Take a look! *shameless self promoting*) **


	17. Chapter 17

Sometimes the most normal of events can cause everything to become unwound.

Master Cain had forgotten to wind his watch last night, leaving it very difficult to accurately measure the time needed for a reaction to cease. In a fit of frustration, the aristocrat had flung it upon the tiled, chemical resistant table, causing the back to pop off, and several pieces to fall out. Which then meant, of course, he had to admit the error to Riff, as well as present him the assorted pieces gathered into a handkerchief, and ask to borrow his watch. Highly amused by the wounded pride and disgruntled orders, Riff traded watches and left for the master bedroom, to store the pieces so it could be taken to be fixed tomorrow.

Except, he didn't quite succeed in that much either. In fact, he accidentally dropped the small bundle, scattering the meticulously gather parts all over the floor. At least Master Cain would feel less the fool when he had to explain why it took twenty minutes to put away a watch, Riff reflected wryly, reaching under the bed for a stray cog. He touched metal (the cog) and then... paper.

Frowning, Riff pulled a box from under the bed. It was colorfully patterned, with _Mme. Fayette _printed in silver and blue swirls across the lid. A dress box, and from a name which was familiar to Riff. Miss Mary Weather's nicest dresses were ordered from Madame Fayette, a displaced French national. Master Cain must have ordered a gift for his sister. Riff wasn't sure when her birthday was, but perhaps it was an early acquired Christmas gift. Curious as to what his lord had ordered this time, Riff opened the box.

For one wild, impossible moment, he thought the box might actually contain a severed head. It was certainly the only immediate explanation for the mass of black hair he first saw, and Riff barely suppressed a scream.

But when he had calmed his racing heart, he realized that the box was entirely too shallow to contain a fully grown human head, and there was no scent of decay, and the box was far too light to actually contain any body parts.

Which still left him with absolutely no explanation as to why there was a great deal of long, black hair hidden away in a box under Master Cain's bed. Lifting it carefully out of the box, he found it was in fact a wig, and covered what he had expected to find when he'd opened it in the first place… except, also, not at all.

It was a dress box, he'd expected to find a dress, and there _was _a dress. But… But he already knew this dress.

This was _his_ _Mary's _dress. So… How on God's good earth had Miss Mary's dress ended up in a box underneath Master Cain's bed? Riff felt, very suddenly, very betrayed. Had Miss Mary lied to him, when she'd laughed at the idea of she and Cain being romantically involved? Was he really just an amusement, a side show while she-?

"Riff!" Master Cain was standing in the doorway, and he looked very, very displeased.

It clicked. And if the first betrayal felt like a punch to the stomach, the second felt like being burnt in the fire all over again.

"…Mary. You're…" He looked down at the wig in his hands, then up at Cain, seeing it now, the same eyes, the same mouth and face, and _how had he never seen the similarity before? _

"What do you think you're doing?!" the aristocrat demanded, bristling and stalking into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Master Cain, why on earth were you…" Riff trailed off, holding up the wig in explanation, unable to articulate his question. Dressing as Mary? Pretending to be a woman? Lying to him?

"Should it matter what I choose to do? How dare you question my decisions! How dare you purposefully invade my privacy in such a way!" Cain half-shouted. Still reeling from shock and heartbreak, Riff barely noticed how the fragility he had seen in Mary's smile was reflected, now, in Cain's eyes. Broken glass, fragile, shattered, but dangerous. Perfectly capable of inflicting pain. "You have no right!"

The accusation served as another blow, another painful reminder. No right. Servant. Riff closed his eyes, took a deep breath to recenter himself, force the heartache away. "Of course, milord. You're right," he admitted, every reprimand and lesson in servitude running through his head, far clearer than the medical terms he'd half forgotten, as was only fitting. He'd never been a doctor, had only been a servant. _Head down, no eye contact, voice even. Don't argue. The master is the superior. He is always correct. Remember your employment, your livelihood, relies upon him. _"I had dropped your watch parts, milord, and was looking for one of the pieces under the bed. I apologize for opening the box. I will accept what punishment you deem fit." Automatically, Riff repacked the dress, lay the wig carefully on top, and slid the box back under the bed.

He focused on his breathing. No personality. No emotion. A servant is invisible, a servant performs the task and does nothing more. He had no right to open the box, regardless of whether he had thought it Master Hargreaves's or a gift for his sister. Forget the betrayal. To call it a betrayal assumed Master Hargreaves, Miss Mary owed him some measure of loyalty in return. Something which never existed cannot be broken. Forget the betrayal. Forget the betrayal.

"Riff!" There was a hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly, jerking him around and away from the bed to face the aristocrat again. Master Cain was still furious, still angry.

Already precariously balanced, Riff snapped entirely, composure utterly shattered. Dignity and control abandoned, gasping for breath, Riff curled forward, one arm pressed tightly around his chest, and the other hand grasping, desperately, at Cain's jacket. It took him far longer than it should have to realize he was choking out words. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was in love with her, I loved her, my Mary, my beautiful and wonderful Mary, and why-how could you ever-How could _I_ ever think I could be that lucky, to be with her, to be happy, I knew I never-that I should never have touched… I'm sorry, I just wanted… I just wanted to think she could… I love her. Oh _God, _I love her… And she was never real, and I _love_ her…"

Master Cain trembled, and Riff let go, knowing it was fury, and how dare he, and what was he thinking, except the nobleman knelt across from him instead. "Here," he whispered, and Riff finally saw the pain and worry in his eyes, too. (But _why?_). "It'll be all right, Riff," he whispered, and there was something soft brushed against his face, wiping his eyes. When had he started crying? He didn't cry. "It'll be all right." A handkerchief was pressed into his hand.

Self awareness trickled back. Riff took a deep breath, clinging to the handkerchief, and the trust it represented, like a lifeline. He was never completely stable, but he was usually much better about feigning it.

"Riff?"

Scared. Master Cain was scared. Riff kept his eyes closed for the moment, folding and unfolding and refolding the handkerchief. "One moment, sir," he said softly, trying to bring his voice under control.

Several long minutes passed before Riff felt like starting the conversation that needed to happen. Finally, he opened his eyes again, feeling at least slightly more in control. "All right," he finally said quietly. His voice was rough, but even. "I'm sorry for any intrusion into your privacy, Master Cain. I wasn't thinking about you, to be honest, and it was not deliberate. I thought it was, perhaps, a dress for Miss Mary Weather. I still should not have opened it, but I was curious. I apologize."

The teen nodded quickly, still looking half afraid, half angry. Nervous. "Riff, I…"

Riff watched him silently as he struggled for words. "Please tell me you had a good reason for wearing a dress." He couldn't think of what would happen immediately after this, or what he would do. Things would change. And he was just so tired.

"A disguise. I just… I needed to not be recognized, I needed to investigate Gladstone… I'd used the dress before for the same thing, except…" The nobleman sat down across from him, crossing his legs. "Except it wasn't working that well. It was the first time I'd been… well… in a large party, at public like that. Usually it's just one on one, so I can flirt with him and get information that way and it's _easy, _but this time, there were too many people, and…" The teenager stared down at his knees, and Riff was almost relieved he wasn't the only one having difficulty making eye contact. "And I was… terrified. I thought I'd get dragged somewhere, or I'd make a mistake, and I was just trying to get away and damn the mission to hell! And then… God, I sound like such a girl, and it's such a cliche, but… But then I met you, and you were just such a damn gentleman." He took a deep breath. "For the first time in my life I actually felt safe with someone else."

Riff closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath himself, trying to examine exactly what he was feeling right now. "Keep going."

"I just… wanted to keep seeing you, to keep having you look at me that way. It wasn't exactly… a coherent plan, and I thought-hoped-that perhaps it was just the dress, at first, that I'd gotten… too into character, even though I'd arranged that first meeting… God, I'm insane. I made friends with Gladstone at the opera so I could still get my information, and then I had to run into you at his manor again, and it was the exact same way, except I had to keep you away, I didn't want you getting in trouble because of me, again. But I could already tell seeing you again that Thursday wouldn't… wouldn't be enough. So I hired you after the scandal."

"Not because I was actually capable, but because I treated you decently at a party?" His voice shook, though he fought to keep it even. And he'd thought he'd finally…

"No! ….Yes. Some, I think. But if it had only been your kindness, do you think you'd have won over the staff at all, let alone so quickly? You're very good at what you do, Riff. And you weren't afraid of me. You may be here because I… But it's definitely not just that anymore. Riff… It was…"

Riff watched him carefully, trying to think clearly. "Was what, sir?" he prompted, as Master Cain seemed unlikely to continue.

"…Was natural. With you, when I was pretending, it was… was natural, to trust you. I don't know what… what I was thinking, not really, but I couldn't… I just couldn't say no. And when you started working here, it was what I wanted, all I wanted, even if you didn't know about…" An inarticulate gesture, but Riff understood what he meant and nodded. "And you still wanted to take care of me, and I just thought… if I can trust anyone with my scars, it's him. Whatever he thinks must be what I really deserve. Even when you knew the truth, you still looked at me the same way, still treated me the same way, and… Riff…" The nobleman took a deep breath, shakily, before the words tumbled out. "I fell in love with you. I just… I fell in love with you."

Riff had definitely not expected that. He would have almost preferred it to be some sort of ruse, some trick, that nothing Mary had said or done had been genuine. This… was bad. ...Wasn't it?

Well, one thing he did know: this was an emotional Gordian's knot he'd need time to unravel. Time _away _from Cain, and here, and, preferably, London.

Cain had gone silent, still staring at his knees. He hadn't even looked up when he'd admitted… that (love?)… to Riff.

"Master Cain?" His shoulders curled down in response, reflexively, and Riff wondered if he was thinking of his father. "…I have a request."

"Please don't leave." The nobleman sounded so young, like the half-broken teen he really was, for once. "If… If there's no other way, I'll give you references, help you find whatever job you want, but please, I… I'll never speak of it again, I swear, just…"

"I'm not resigning, sir." Riff hadn't known it until it was spoken aloud, but it was true. Terrifyingly so. Another implication to consider. "…Master Cain, I'd like to request some time away. No more than a week. I can even… a working absence, I can inspect the manor at Cornwall, familiarize myself with it. I don't know. But sir, I need…" He took another deep breath, let it out slowly. "I need time to adjust. I need time to... to mourn."

For the first time since Riff had asked for a reason, Cain looked back up at him. "…You'll come back?" he verified, looking surprised and still vaguely sick, probably with nerves. Riff could certainly relate. "You _swear _you'll come back?"

"…I swear," he repeated, voice gentle again. "I simply need time to figure out an answer, Master Cain, and what I need to do, but I need to step away from the problem long enough to see that answer. The least you can do is give that to me."

Cain flinched, but nodded. Riff wasn't sure whether to feel guilty or not. But, when Riff stood and offered his master a hand up as well, he took it.

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><p><strong>AN: *grins* No comments this week. And no reviews to reply to. So I'll just leave this here, shall I? I'll justify/elaborate/comment next week, I suppose... I can't keep my mouth shut about some things. **

**If you've read, please review! **


	18. Chapter 18

The week passed in a flurry of introductions to Cornwall's staff, double checking accounts, and extremely long walks on the grounds of the estate. Riff did what was expected of him, answered questions ranging from how Master Hargreaves fared to the latest happenings in London, and tried to stay out of the way otherwise. He did, after all, have a great deal to think about.

And, by the end of the week, not a great deal to show for it.

He'd cemented and clarified the decision to continue working at the Hargreaves household, even untangling why he felt he should. Master Cain needed him. Cain needed him, and, setting aside the emotional snarl surrounding the idea of Mary being Master Cain and Master Cain being Mary and Master Cain _loving _him, the nobleman had demonstrated multiple times that overwhelming trust he had.

Master Cain needed him and Riff… well, Riff needed to be needed. And as angry as he'd been, still was, anger was not a good enough reason to walk away from the best job he had held in years. Anger would pass. And if he was still missing the household even while taking a needed and desired break, well, there wasn't really a way for Riff to deny that he wanted to stay.

The question of love, though… By the end of the week, Riff had finally managed to equate his Mary to his master wearing a dress (and he'd have to have long talk with Master Cain about that, when he went home). It was slow, but it was a start towards letting go. Riff could begin to heal, though it would take far longer than a week for Riff to be able to move on entirely.

When Riff did return, slipping back into routine was surreally simple. Miss Mary Weather babbled at him eagerly after dinner, filling him in about the garden party she had attended with her brother and the kitten he had allowed her to adopt. After the second admonishment and the third reminder that she really ought to be finishing her sums, Riff gave up and accepted the chattering for what it was. She had missed him.

Master Cain operated at the other end of the spectrum, remaining cool and aloof, at least until it was time to retire for the night.

"Riff? Have you… what are you going to do?" If the aristocrat's voice shook, both men pretended not to notice.

"I would like to continue working here, Master Cain. Until you wish otherwise, of course, but…" Riff started quietly, but trailed off.

"You do?" The teenager didn't seem to believe him. Riff smiled slightly, amused by the shock. "Even after... after I lied to you, and… I know I hurt you, Riff, and you still-?"

The valet just nodded silently, not willing to talk about quite that much. Yet. "Yes, sir. If…" He sighed, folding his hands behind his back. Well, he had to say something… Some explanation. Master Cain was still staring at him, wide eyed and very, very still. "If you hadn't trusted me, willingly, voluntarily, even though it was so difficult to do so… I would leave, sir, because I would have no real reason to say. But you did make that effort, and I would be a fool to throw that trust away."

"You are impossibly kind," Cain whispered. He scrubbed one hand across his eyes and took a deep breath. "Anyone who knew half of what you do would… would turn me over to the authorities, at the least." Riff didn't have a chance to reply properly, because the nobleman had, abruptly, stood from the edge of the bed and embraced him, burying his face into his suit and tightening his arms around his chest. As if he was afraid to let go.

When it came, the whisper was fast, and fierce, and held a mixture of passion and possession and terror Riff had never heard from his lord before. "I swear, with God as my witness, I'll never say it to you again if you don't want me to, but Riff, I love you. You have to know that, you absolutely have to. I am in love with you, and that will never change."

Carefully, Riff returned the embrace, resting one hand on the back of Cain's head, the other on his back, and drawing him close. "Hush, Master Cain. It's all right. I know." What he didn't know was what to do about it...

The teen pulled away, searching his face desperately, before relaxing and smiling at him. It was shaky, and there was a wet glint in his eye that was no fault of the lamp light, but it was a smile. "Thank you, Riff," he finally said, closing his eyes and, for a brief moment, resting his forehead against his chest again. "Thank you."

And for the first time, Riff considered how easy it would be to fall in love with this man.

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, everyone! Just one more chapter and an epilogue to go. I'm glad to see that most people seem to think my handling of the characters in the last chapter was accurate. I was a little bit worried about the reactions to Riff's breakdown. I'm kind of glad I didn't have to defend it. Too much. **

**ONE OTHER VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION. I'm considering writing a sequel/parallel story to this one. It would be pretty much the exact same story and idea, but it would be the entire thing from Cain's perspective as opposed to Riff's, with a few other things thrown in so it's not exactly the same. So you'd see what happened at the party after Riff had to leave, you'd see Cain interacting with Gladstone, you'd see Cain's thoughts as "Mary," you'll see this week that I just passed, things of that sort. Would anyone be interested in reading such a thing? I'll probably post it anyway, once it's been written, but I'm wondering what kind of reception it would get. Thoughts? Opinions? PM me or review here! **

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><p><strong>Anonymous review replies! <strong>

**_Moon:_ THANK YOU. Ideally, people would know from the summary that Cain was involved in cross-dressing shenanigans (again) and wouldn't think I was introducing an OC. I was angling for a bit of dramatic irony, where the readers knew what was going on but Riff didn't. I'm glad it worked so well! And I'm glad you thought Riff's struggle was accurately portrayed. I'll admit to some nerves about it, and a little bit of narrative justification. I couldn't let Riff be angry with him, at least, not first, because that would shatter any sort of building trust between the two. (That's what happened the first time I wrote this, and I'd always felt it extremely inaccurate. So I fixed it this time around!) But at the same time, I couldn't see Riff just accepting it. In his mind, Cain and Mary are two different people. It'll take time for him to equate the two, let alone consider the implications of that. There are definitely things that Riff will go along with (even if long-sufferingly go along with), but those generally tie into their servant/master positions, not necessarily their positions as friends/confidants/lovers/whatever emotional attachments they have. **

**Ahh, your reviews always make me go off on long tangents. Come off anon so that I may love and rant at you properly, without taking up so much space within chapters and irritating over readers!**

_**Akami: **_**Heehee, it was actually your review about how you don't usually like original characters that made me go change the summary to make it slightly more obvious what I had planned. I'm glad to hear you're loving this story so much, and that you've enjoyed the other little one shots I've posted as well! Enjoy the last couple of chapters. **

**Only a couple of more chapters to go to wrap everything up... **


	19. Chapter 19

It took months, and a bullet embedded in his shoulder, for Riff to admit that he had.

Later, much later, Riff would learn Cain's marked increase in difficulty and contrariness was caused by the upcoming anniversary of his father's death. While this did not excuse his behavior by any means, it did make it slightly more understandable. Slightly.

Still, Riff would be reprimanding Cain for his lack of self preservation and common sense, namely that it was a bad thing for one to confront a suspected murderer alone, particularly while unarmed and a slim, vaguely effeminate teenager. At the moment, however, Riff could only manage a gritted and rather bad-tempered "Idiot!" around the mass of pain under his tongue.

Besides, Cain didn't seem too likely to listen to any such lecture, as he was giving Riff a very similar sounding lecture about self preservation and common sense, namely that it was a bad thing to block gun shots with his body. Riff thought this was rather unfair. At least he didn't look so _pretty_.

…Maybe he should actually be concerned over how much blood he was losing.

The next few hours were a blur of color-intense pain and far too much white noise, but somewhere in the haze were a couple of crystal clear images. Miss Mary Weather's white face watching between the balcony railing as he was supported into the entrance hall. Cain's expression of terror more than anger, whatever his voice was doing.

He thought he might have argued with the doctor about something, but by then the man had given him some sort of painkiller and was trying to fish the bullet out of his shoulder, so he doubted anything he'd said was particularly coherent. He'd have to apologize. Probably to Cain, too, as he was fairly certain he'd interrupted the lecture to remind the nobleman to breathe and inform him he was prettier anyway.

Riff woke the next morning with Master Cain clutching at his hand and halfway on the bed with him. His head was mostly clear now, though still fuzzy enough to let him lay silently, admiring the curve of the aristocrat's face and the softness of his hair. His eyelashes were ridiculously long, too… _I love him, _he thought, still half asleep. Riff smiled to himself. _I love him. _

It was over an hour before Master Cain stirred, his hand tightening on Riff's and turning his face into the bed. Riff squeezed his hand in return, laughing when Master Cain snapped awake to stare up at him. "Riff!"

"Good morning, sir." He tried, for the sake of Cain's pride, not to sound too amused. The pain in his shoulder helped. "You should have gone to sleep in a proper bed, you know, not in a chair. Those are quite uncomfortable."

"If you know that well enough it's the first thing you think of, clearly you've slept in them far too often," the aristocrat snapped back, still holding his hand tightly. "Don't ever do something so stupid again! I thought you would know better than that. You got _hurt! _You might have _died!" _He looked as if he might cry.

Gently, Riff reached up to touch his cheek. "I would be a very poor friend indeed if I let you get hurt when I could do something to prevent it," he whispered. "I'll be all right, sir. I'm still alive, I'm still here."

The nobleman frowned and looked down, taking a deep breath. "I can see that, I do have eyes, you know," he snapped again. Riff smiled again.

"Thank you for worrying about me, sir."

Master Cain flushed deeply and stood. "Don't do anything so stupid again," he repeated. "You have far too many responsibilities in the household to be convalescing for so long."

"Yes, sir," Riff replied. They both knew he would if needed, and that responsibilities in the household had nothing to do with it, but it went unsaid.

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><p>The first day he was permitted out of bed and back to full duties, Riff woke Master Cain as usual. He placed breakfast on the nearby table, pouring a cup of tea. The teen remained curled tightly under the covers, half-buried in the duvet. He couldn't help but smile, seeing Cain so relaxed.<p>

After a moment's hesitation, Riff bent to kiss him softly, stroking soft hair away from his face. "Wake up, Master Cain," he whispered, moving to kiss his temple this time.

Cain stirred slowly, meeting his eyes with a sleepy smile, before he woke fully and drew back. "Riff?" His voice quavered.

Riff shushed him, moving to kneel next to him and keeping one hand on his face. "No, Master Cain, hush… I didn't mean to startle you. It's just… " He smiled helplessly and shrugged. "I love you. I'm sorry it took so long."

Cain's smile was worth the months it had taken.

It started like any proper fairy tale should. A boy, a girl, a dance. It ended like a proper fairy tale, too. With a kiss.

But perhaps this time, that kiss was when things really began.


	20. Epilogue

_Several months later..._

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><p>Oscar Gabriel, eldest (if disgraced and disowned) son of Baron Gabriel was not having the best night. He had acknowledged to himself early that he was off his game. But there was a gorgeous little thing in the corner that kept distracting him... and Ariadne was the third woman of the night to notice that his attention was not in the right place, or on the right woman.<p>

Well, Oscar decided, downing the last of his beer and standing. Only one thing for it.

"I would advise against that."

The redhead stumbled, taken by surprise, and rounded on the man who had spoken. He, Oscar decided, looked far to respectable to be in this seedy bar, even with his suit jacket hanging over the back of his chair and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Oscar frowned. Were those _burn _scars? Huh. Wait, words.

"Advise against what?"

The blond nodded towards the corner, where the girl was leaning forward, one hand on her conversational partner's wrist. She was smiling widely, head tilted to one side. "You're going to try to talk to her."

Oscar puffed himself up, frowning. "How dare you assume-"

He was interrupted by a whirlwind of green silks. "Crehador spilled everything, and I didn't have to use a quarter of the bribe I expected," the woman announced, sliding into the other man's lap, grabbing his tie, and pulling him into a deep kiss. Oscar's mouth dropped open. "He's easy, Riff, make a note of that, and he has impeccable sources. Good target." Still speaking quickly, the girl swung the stool around to face the bar, catching the other man's tumbler of brandy and taking a sip. "Ugh, Riff, you always buy the cheap stuff!"

"That, milady, is because I am actually sensible with my money," the blond said dryly, smiling, steadying her with one arm around her waist. "You verified the location?"

"I did! Mr. Alderman was glimpsed at a party three days ago. Difficult to believe, as he's been in his grave for a week." She sounded gleeful, slid her arms around her… ah, Riff's shoulders and pressed their heads together. "So what's a dead man doing-" She caught sight of Oscar over the man's shoulder and glared at him. "Oh. You. Go away, we're busy."

Oscar shut his mouth with a snap. He didn't stop staring.

The woman sniffed and resumed ignoring him. "Anyway, Riff, I think we should talk to the coroner next, see what he thought of the body. There was an actual body, I believe, so we've got either a living impostor or a dead one, and it would be best to have a hypothesis before verification."

"Perhaps tomorrow, milady?" he suggested politely, relaxed tone at odds with the fact that she was still on his lap. "Do you know when that particular coroner is on duty, in any case? Besides, I doubt the morgue will be open at the moment, given the lateness of the hour. You should be in bed."

She grinned in wicked response. "Will you be there with me?" She gave him another kiss, this one slower, before he could respond, then tilted back to her feet. "But you're right, of course. You always are. I don't know what I would do without you, love. I suppose we'll have to return home, then."

"That might be advised," the man said, standing and catching his lady's elbow in support as she swayed. Oscar had to actually look up at him. He hadn't had to do that to any man in years. "Come, it shouldn't be difficult to find a cab."

Oscar watched the pair go, before sitting at the bar again and catching the keep's attention. He really shouldn't drink too much, he reminded himself wryly. He was supposed to be meeting with an acquaintance tomorrow.

Contemplatively, he stared at the tumbler, abandoned by what's-his-name. Riff. "Gin, please," he told the keep.

The hell with his appointment with Cain Hargreaves. The hangover would be gone by tea-time anyway.

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><p><strong>AN: I've started college again (classes begin tomorrow morning) so I'm finishing this up now. Have an epilogue! **

**I hope everyone enjoyed the ending of the fic, and that it lived up to its expectations. I've really enjoyed writing it, and I have been incredibly proud of it, as it's the first multi-chapter fic I've completed and posted. **

**I want to leave a very special thanks to the people who have reviewed this story and consistently followed it. I read and reply to every review, and take them to heart. Thank you all so much for your kind words. **

**A sequel/parallel story is planned, written from Cain's perspective, but I do warn you not to expect it for a while (several months at least). I've not written a word for it, and classes will be in the way, as will my extracurriculars and on campus job. A few (AU) one shots may be polished and published before anything for this continuity is. Keep an eye out for it, however! Probable title: "How Does Your Garden Grow?" **

**Again, I thank all of the readers, those who reviewed and those who did not, for reading this story. **

**I bid you all adieu. **


	21. Author's Note: Sister Story Posted!

**Not a new chapter, as this story has been complete for quite some time, but an announcement! **

**The first chapter of the long-promised sequel story, _Pretty Maids All in a Row_, is completed and posted, as of about five minutes ago. It tells the same story, but I hope to fill in some holes as Cain takes a turn at explaining events. If you enjoyed _Quite Contrary_, I hope you'll enjoy this new one as well! **

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><p><strong>Anonymous Review responses to the last chapter of Quite Contrary:<strong>

**I told myself when I posted the new sequel story, I would make a note of anonymous and respond, as I hate not thanking people for their kind words. **

**Pikeeboo: You've reviewed several of my one shots, and the last chapters of things, which makes it very difficult to reply to your lovely messages, since you remain anonymous. But thank you very much for your comment and your review. Saying that my writing reads like a novelization of the manga is a high compliment indeed, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope things continue to leave you speechless and breathless! Again, thank you very much. **


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